


Timeshare Sequel - To Mix the Grape and Grain

by Lalex



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Bonding, Breathplay, Draco changing sides, Family Dinners, Helpful Bill, Humor, I'll add tags as I go along, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Rough blow job, Sexual Tension, Story continued
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:21:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26996593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lalex/pseuds/Lalex
Summary: Draco has nowhere else to go, so Harry tries to include him into his life and family. Difficulties ensue.Or: Draco acts suspicious - what is he up to?
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 99
Kudos: 181





	1. Where To Now

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Timeshare](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5744635) by [astolat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/astolat/pseuds/astolat). 



> I'm grateful to Astolat for giving blanket permission to work with her stories. She is one of my favoutire writers and I have often wondered how "Timeshare" would continue to go on.
> 
> This is me commiting my thoughts to paper, so to speak. I don't yet have a beta, so if you're interested or just want to offer advice or ideas, I'm all ears.

They sat next to each other in a double seat facing the direction of travel. It would have looked odd for two blokes to be seen sitting pressed together at one of the tables. Draco didn’t even complain about the lack of space, as Harry would have expected him to. He looked like he was in a kind of trance. He didn’t say anything, just held onto Harry’s arm so strongly it nearly hurt. Harry didn’t mind; he wouldn’t know what to talk about, anyway. It should have been awkward.

He kept touching his forehead because his scar was gone. It was _gone _!__ And now that he wasn’t being chased through a forest, he realised he felt… different. Lighter, more comfortable, and more centred at the same time. But that could just be the connection he felt with Draco. It had moved from his gut upwards towards his breastbone. When he closed his eyes, it was there. Warm, pulsing, nestled between his ribs. It felt weird, unfamiliar.

After a good while, Draco’s grip relaxed and he sat upright, straightening his back. His eyes cleared and his mouth gained a determined cast. He looked up. His eyes bored into Harry’s, as if to communicate something. Harry had no idea what it was.

“Where are we going now?” Draco asked calmly.

Harry was briefly taken aback by his straightforwardness. He hadn’t even thought about the next step.

“Well, we can’t get to Hogwarts on our own,” he answered slowly. “I don’t know where Hedwig is, but when we stay somewhere long enough, she might catch up and we could contact Dumbledore.”

Draco’s mouth twisted. “Yes, I suppose we should contact the old coot.”

“Hey! Don’t talk about him like that!” Harry barked, indignant.

Draco let go of his arm abruptly. Harry told himself he didn’t miss the warmth of Malfoy’s touch through his jumper.

“I talk about him however I like, Potter. It’s not like he ever did anything for me or my family. Or any Slytherin, for that matter,” Draco spat.

“You make it sound like he hated all Slytherins or something.”

“Well, you would definitely think he did, from the way he so blatantly favours Gryffindor. At first, I thought he was just doing it to curry your favour, but Father said he’s been like that from the start,” Draco said.

“He doesn’t ‘blatantly favour Gryffindor’,” Harry protested. How could they go from happily munching chocolate and huddling together to arguing in a minute?

“Oh, come now, don’t make me laugh. He literally gave you just enough points to win the house cup nearly every year. What else would you call that?”

“Those points were deserved! And Snape takes away so many of Gryffindors points for no reason at all, it’s only fair we get…”

“Don’t you dare talk to me about fairness, Potter!” Draco hissed. He twisted in his seat to get as far away from Harry as the armrest would allow and glared at him. Something inside Harry trembled.

“You have no idea what it’s like to live in that school and get sideway glances whenever you set foot out the common room door! The only places we can relax are our own dormitories! It’s bad enough the other pupils treat us like a pest of sewage grindylows, but Snape is the only teacher who’s on our side! If you think for a minute that I will respect a man who turns a blind eye when children are being bullied whose only crime is belonging to the wrong house, you are clearly deranged!”

“That’s rich, you talking about bullying,” Harry wanted to say, but he was distracted by a flattering in his ribcage that felt really very odd. Initially, he thought it was his temper getting the best of him, but the feeling wasn’t quite sharp enough to be anger.

Draco turned away, hunching back in on himself.

“And now I…” Draco swallowed. “I won’t even belong there anymore.”

His voice was barely a whisper.

“They won’t take me back. Snape won’t protect me. It’s my own fault for getting into this mess. And _Mother_ …” Draco choked. Was he sobbing?

Harry’s heart clenched. Draco couldn’t go back home. And he couldn’t go back to the way he was at Hogwarts, either.

It wasn’t anger Harry felt inside his chest. It was abject misery.

He touched Draco’s hand, or tried to. Draco whirled around and pulled his arm away sharply. His eyes widened and then narrowed.

“I don’t need your pity, Potter," he practically spat in his face and drew himself up in his seat. “You never even knew your parents. You grew up with those filthy muggles, who treated you like garbage. The only home you have ever known is that horrible school and you threw yourself at Dumbledore at the very first sign he would give you even a little bit of love and attention. How starved for it you had to be. Poor little Potter, abandoned by his closest family. But I am Draco Ignatius Abraxus Malfoy, thirty-seventh of my line. I will see this whole thing through and come out with my head held high. We will talk to Dumbledore. I am your Bonded now. He has no choice but to accept me, and then we’ll see.”

Harry reared back in shock. He should be furious. He wanted to be furious. But Draco was talking more to himself than to Harry, there at the end, and – it was somehow easier to see him condescending than… how he had been before. Harry really didn’t want to fight. It made something inside him shrivel.

He let it go.

Then he sat back, thinking for a moment.

“We could go back to Little Whinging, I suppose. The Dursley’s are on holiday, so the house is empty,” he said, referring back to Draco’s original question. “Or maybe we could stay at a motel.”

“I am not setting foot in another muggle house if my life depends on it,” Draco said. Perking up, he added: “What about Nocturne Alley? I know an inn, there.”

“Are you mad? That place is crawling with people who would turn us over in a second.”

Draco hummed. Harry briefly thought of the Phoenix Headquarters, but Professor Dumbledore was secret keeper, so he wouldn’t be able to take Draco inside before contacting him, anyway.

“We could always go to Ron’s,” he mused.

Draco opened his mouth and closed it a second later. Whatever he’d been going to say, he had evidently thought better of it. Eventually, he shrugged. “It can’t be worse than your uncle’s miniature hovel, although I am not keen on being trampled by a horde of Weasleys.”

They discussed it for another five minutes, but everyone Draco knew wasn’t safe and Harry had no idea where any of his other friends lived. They’d both had enough of Hermione’s prodding the last time around, so the Burrow it was.

“They live in Devon,” Harry said.

“And we will be using muggle transportation?” Draco guessed, making a face.

“Well, I suppose. It’s quite late already and it probably takes about three hours to get there by train. We could always take the floo, but I’m sure most public grates in London are being watched now that we’ve gone missing.”

“Oh joy,” Draco sighed.

Getting off at Swindon, they went back the other way. Harry bought new tickets. They had to go all the way down to Fentonville but they were at least lucky enough to catch the last train connection. Harry spent their forty-minute wait in Bristol fretfully looking out the window of the waiting area while Draco inspected the vending machines and flyer racks.

“Muggles are such odd creatures,” he announced, sitting down with enough reading material to cover the next five hours.

###

They didn’t talk much sitting on the train to Devon. Harry was exhausted now that the adrenaline was starting to wear off. Building that wall back up had been draining enough on his magic, but that awful chest injury afterwards had really taken its toll. His chest hurt just thinking about it. His body was heavy and slow and if he weren’t so tired and his head feeling so mushy, he would probably worry more about what had happened during the last few hours. As it was, he just tried not to fall asleep in his seat.

Draco sat next to him staring out the window. Harry had the bizarre impulse to take his hand, to see how it felt, but the way Draco had reacted earlier gave him pause.

He had pitied him, just for a moment, and Draco had instantly turned on him. He hadn’t said things that hurtful to Harry in a while. Harry wouldn’t be surprised if that were the approach Malfoy had learned from his father – hiding insecurity behind cutting remarks. Antagonising people before they could see your weakness. It had worked brilliantly over the years, ever since Harry had first met him. Hadn’t it been that way from the start?

He looked over at Draco’s reflection. His face was pale and his lips stood out. His eyes seemed darker that they should be. Was he thinking of his mother? His father? His hair was curled inwards at the nape and his collar was dirty from sweating and his cravat was creased. The sleeves of his shirt were wrinkled where he had pulled them up while they’d worked on the wall. The legs of his trousers where sprinkled with mud. All in all, he looked exceedingly dishevelled for a Malfoy.

' _Beautiful_ ,' Harry’s mind supplied.

Suddenly, Draco’s eyes moved to meet his in the window. Harry couldn’t look away.

Then Malfoy slowly turned around and looked at him full on. There was a small cut on his cheekbone. Probably from one of the twigs when they’d raced through the trees. Harry stared at it. The surge of protectiveness he felt surprised him. He gradually lifted his arm, so as not to startle Draco, and touched his cheek with his right index finger. He didn’t have to concentrate at all for the mark to gradually fade away. Then it was gone. Harry moved his finger along the delicate bone towards Draco’s ear. His skin was soft and warm. The tip of his ear was faintly pink. He cupped his face. His eyes fell to his lips. They were thin and red. Malfoy moved towards him by increments. His breath warmed Harry’s skin along his neck. He didn’t dare move at all. He closed his eyes.

Something shifted and then he saw himself with his arm raised, but at the same time it didn’t look like himself at all. This person’s skin was flushed and more luminous somehow, his eyelashes were much too dark, and surely his hair wasn’t that shiny. His lips never looked as full when he saw himself in a mirror, either. He opened his mouth experimentally and suddenly he couldn’t see anything anymore, but he felt. Soft lips, the tip of a tongue against his lower lip – or was it Draco’s lip? His insides lurched and his skin prickled. Kissing had been incredible before, but this. This was unlike anything he’d ever known. Draco moved and he moved. One of them made a small noise and then it was tongues stroking and lips crashing and hands pulling. He was burning.

A quiet rasping sound startled him into opening his eyes.

“Excuse me boys, just moving through,” a high-pitched voice sounded.

Harry could just make out a dark coat moving past the edge of his vision. Draco flew away from him and turned around to look out the window again. Harry twisted to watch the woman close the door of the apartment.

He relaxed and stole a glance at Draco. The skin at the back of his neck was flushed and his shoulders moved with rapid breaths.

Harry wanted to do it again.

His mind played the scene over and over. It couldn’t be… that was how Malfoy saw him, could it? That dark, alluring figure with roguishly tousled hair and rounded lips.

He blushed. Unthinkable.

“Uh, I’ll just… go find the loo,” he spluttered and got up.

Without another look back, he fairly sprinted towards the end of the carriage and shot through the door. He was just closing it behind him, when he noticed the woman in the dark coat leaning against the opposite wall, watching him. Her small, purple hat was slightly tilted, sitting atop mousy grey hair.

“Good evening,” she nodded at him brusquely. “Nice weather for a late outing, isn’t it?”

She fixed him with blue, stalely eyes.

“Uh, uhm… yes, very mild out,” Harry stammered.

He blushed, vaguely uncomfortable with her direct staring. When he strode past her, he imagined seeing her hide something in the inner pocket of her coat. However, when he slowed to cast a surreptitious glance back, she was just pulling on a glove. Probably getting off at the next stop.

He shook his head slightly. He was just being paranoid.

###

When they got off the train at last, it was pitch dark beyond the puddles of light underneath the streetlamps.

Draco turned towards him. He arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow.

“Well? Which way do we go?” he asked a little impatiently.

“Ahhhh…” Harry said.

Draco groaned.

“Please tell me you know where we’re going,” he said.

“Ah, well. I. I only ever went to Ron’s place by floo. And side-along.” And by flying car, Harry thought, but didn’t say.

“Merlin give me strength,” Draco murmured. “It’s my fault. I was lulled into believing you had a brain underneath that nest you call hair. I should have known better. We could have done this from the start!”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out something shiny. It was his mother’s pearls.

“Now, give me your hand,” he demanded imperiously, holding out his arm.

“Uh, Why?” Harry asked.

The second eyebrow joined the first. “Do you want to stumble around the countryside in the dark, hoping for the best, or would you actually like to arrive before sunrise?” Draco retorted snidely. “I’d like to get a few hours of sleep in and maybe change out of these disgusting clothes if it’s all the same to you.”

Then is face fell comically. He looked at Harry, eyes wide and shiny.

“Oh no!” He gasped in horrified tones. “I haven’t… I haven’t packed _anything_!” He clutched the necklace in his fist. “I’m not fit to be seen like this! I didn’t take a single shirt! I mean, obviously I didn’t, it’s not like I expected to need a full wardrobe for a bit of cleaning up the estate walls, but… I don’t even have a change of….”

He trailed off.

Harry was torn between laughing out loud and reaching out to comfort him. Draco seemed genuinely distressed at his lacking resources of proper attire, visiting the Weasley’s, of all people. Leave it to a Malfoy to stay absolutely calm in the face of a horde of death eaters with their terrifying spectral hounds and lose their composure over a rumpled shirt.

“Can’t you conjure a shirt, or something?” Harry asked.

“Conjure…? A Shirt!” Draco spluttered. “Do you know what it takes to get an Armenian Hornsnail Silk Shirt like this?”

“Uhhhm…”

“Obviously you don’t, that was a rhetorical question!” Draco hissed. “You couldn’t afford a handkerchief made of this material, let alone a whole set of robes.”

Harry elected not to tell him about his vault full of coins just yet.

He thought of something and smirked. “I am sure you can have one of Ron’s,” he said.

Draco looked about to faint. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He looked like a fish. Like a very pale, very terrified fish, who just found out he had to visit a fairy princess who lived fifty miles from shore and had a liking for skewered sea creatures.

“It’ll be alright,” Harry said. “Let’s just get there first and then maybe your mum can send you a set.”

Draco’s mouth snapped shut. He glared at him. “Don’t be idiotic, Potter. I can’t make my mother vulnerable by telling her where we are. Use your brain. Ah, I forgot. You don’t have one.”

He sighed in an exaggerated manner. “No. I’ll think of something.”

Then he took Harry’s hand in his, clasping the pearls in the other.

“I’m going to apparate us. But you have to be the link. Think about where you want to go. Picture it in your mind, very clearly. Don’t think of anything else!”

“Apparate? You can apparate?” Harry stared at him. “But you are underage!”

“Of course I can apparate. I was taught by my Father when I was twelve. I can’t normally use it, because of the trace, but these are my Mother’s Providing Pearls. Now shut up and concentrate.”

He closed his eyes and after a few seconds, Harry did the same.

Draco’s hand in his felt nice. Comfortable. He wondered what it would feel like, sleeping in the same bed, the way they were now.

“Ready?” Malfoy asked.

“No, wait, just a minute,” Harry said.

He could _feel_ Draco rolling his eyes.

Harry tried to block out Draco’s skin on his. First, he pictured the kitchen, with it's warm and welcoming clutter, but then he thought it might be a bit impolite to simply barge in like that, so he pictured Arthur’s shed, instead. The wooden walls, the Muggle scraps decorating every surface…

“Ready,” he breathed.


	2. Bill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Draco arrive at the Burrow in the middle of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this story, young witches and wizards get taught apparition in 7th year and are considered legal adults at 18 years old.

It was just as bad as the first time he had been side-alonged, by Professor Dumbledore. At first there was a twisting sensation, starting from his arm connected to Draco. Then everything went dark and a sudden weight pushed at his body from all sides at once. His eyes and ears were pressed into his skull and he couldn’t breathe at all. At last they were spat out underneath the open sky on a stretch of wet marshland.

Harry doubled over and would have fallen if Draco had not pulled him upright.

“Ugh, where are we?” Draco demanded and cast a Lumos. He lifted his foot. His shoe and trousers where sodden up to mid-calf. “Now that’s just great. Couldn’t you at least get us somewhere dry, if not somewhere inside?”

Harry touched his head and inspected his eyes with his fingers. He was half convinced they’d changed shape.

“Potter!” Draco hissed. “Where are we?”

Harry looked up. They were surrounded on all sides by tall grasses, and he couldn’t make out anything beyond.

“I think we are behind the house,” he said, and started walking forwards.

“Are you sure?” Draco asked. He looked around sceptically. “Who cultivates marshes in their back garden? Ugh, it’s revolting. My shoes are ruined!”

Harry ignored him and kept walking. After a minute he stumbled onto dry ground and when he parted the next patch of grass, he could see the outlines of a small building.

“That’s the shed!” He announced. “This is where I was trying to go,” he added sheepishly.

“Well, either your sense of direction needs serious improving, or your good friends, the Weasleys, have warded you out of their property.”

“Nah, I don’t think that’s it. Why would they ward me out?” He said critically.

“Perhaps they finally decided that mingling with the half-bloods isn’t going to improve their status as a long-standing pureblood family anytime soon,” Draco scoffed.

Harry couldn’t tell whether he was being sarcastic or not. He decided to save himself from answering by walking past the shed towards the house.

“But really, their reputation has been ruined since Josephine Weasley upended a decanter onto Arribarth Black’s head at a dinner party 1786. He wouldn’t shut up about the depravity of a certain muggle born wizard she was befriended with. That was when it all started to go pear shaped, of course. I don’t think a single respectable investor took their money after that. Her grandfather was livid, and then she went and had thirteen children, you know how it is, so today the Weasley fortune has been reduced to such an extent, they can’t even afford to buy their first year’s new robes for Hogwarts.”

Harry eyed him. Draco seemed perfectly sincere.

“I mean, Ginevra was in luck, being the only girl, but just look at Ronald. Hand me downs from Charlus’ days.” Draco shook his head sadly.

“Charlie’s name is Charlus?” Harry asked incredulously.

Draco gave him one of those looks that said 'I knew you were stupid, Potter, but I had no idea as to your particular kind of idiocy'.

“You do know the Weasley’s don’t really care about their reputation. And they are quite self-sufficient,” Harry continued.

Draco just huffed, as if trying to explain the workings of pure-blood culture to someone who neither cared nor had an inkling of how much of a sacrifice that would be, wasn’t wort the bother at all.

“If they had warded me out, we wouldn’t have been able to walk this far onto the property,” Harry mused. Then he turned abruptly. “Wait a minute, why can you just cross the border? I’m sure you were never included in the wards!”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “True,” he said slowly, “it must have something to do with our… situation.” He coughed delicately and looked away.

Harry could just make out his blush in the light of the Lumos. He wanted to touch him again, to feel the warmth of his skin underneath his fingertips, but he was sure Draco wouldn’t let him. And really, Draco was an arse, a pure-blood supremacist bigot. Harry just needed to remember that. He didn’t _actually_ want to touch him, at all. Instead, he turned towards the house and began walking up the stairs onto the portico at the back entrance.

“Should we just go in?” Harry asked.

“Wait just a second, would you. I’ll be right back. Don’t go in without me! I think I just saw a particularly lovely bloom over there,” Draco muttered.

With that he marched off into the garden.

Harry was left in the dark, slightly bewildered. With the light gone, his eyes started to adjust. He could make out the rail running around the back terrace and the various pots and plants scattered about. Behind the balustrade, the garden stretched out shimmering in the starlight. Some of the buds seemed to reflect the star light and shone like tiny silver bells. Harry had never seen the garden like this. It was kind of nice. Peaceful.

He closed his eyes and slowly let his lungs fill with night air. Breathing out, he deliberately relaxed his shoulders. The stress of the day left his body bit by bit. They were safe here, for now.

Draco came out of his crouch a few yards away and made his way back towards him. He’d dropped the Lumos. His hair was as shiny as those fluorescent flowers. It was awful. The set of his shoulders was confident and his stride was purposeful. Something had changed from that haunted boy on the train, to become this elegant self-possessed young man. His face was pale like porcelain and his eyes glittered like grey pearls reflecting the moonlight, as he ascended the last steps.

“This ought to do,” he said. Then he cocked his head. “Alright there, Potter?”

Harry cleared his throat and it was his turn to look away and hide the blush that was surely spreading along his cheekbones. Had he just thought Draco was beautiful? They had kissed before and done unspeakable things in the dark and maybe they were bonded for life, but surely that was no reason to lose his head.

“Uhm, yeah. Let’s just, ah…” he gestured at the door awkwardly.

Draco eyed him for a moment longer and then nodded sharply.

“After you, poppet” he said with a mock bow.

Harry turned towards the door, rolling his eyes. The whole house was dark. He hesitated, arm stretched out towards the handle.

“And you are certain about this?” Draco asked again. “It definitely would never occur to _me_ to just swan into the Parkinson estate in the middle of the night, and I’ve known Pansy since I was two months old,” he added drily.

“We don’t really have a choice, do we?” Harry replied. “If you don’t want to spend the night on the portico, that is.”

Draco seemed to be considering this far more seriously than Harry was comfortable with.

“Nah, Ron’ll understand,” he said quickly, more to himself than to Draco, and opened the door. He stepped inside before Draco changed his mind and decided to drag him bodily back into the garden. Then he shook his head to dispel images of Draco bodily dragging him, anywhere.

Harry didn’t walk two steps before he felt a wand at his throat.

“Lumos,” a deep voice sounded.

Blinded by the sudden light, his eyes squeezed shut of their own accord. Almost instantly, the pressure on his jugular lessened.

“Harry! What in the name of sweet Morgana are you doing here?” the voice asked, not unkindly.

Harry cautiously opened an eye to see Bill lower his wand. He wore red and white striped pyjama bottoms, which were sitting rather lower on his hips than Harry felt was strictly necessary, and his hair looked like it was trying to claw his shoulders to shreds. It wasn’t enough, however, to distract from the impressiveness of his torso. He looked like a wild thing. Harry tried not to look very hard.

“I could have barbequed you on the spot, you know," Bill added with a bit too much cheer. "I felt someone unfamiliar pass the wards. I thought I would recognise everyone’s signature, but I guess not.”

He shrugged his shoulders and waved a hand. Immediately the kitchen was softly lit with candles, bottoms melted to the dining table and windowsills. A fire popped up in the hearth and added to the warmth of the mild August night. The flickering, velvety light didn’t help the torso-situation.

“Nox. So, how come-“

Bill set eyes on Malfoy and his gaze became hard again, wand lifting up.

“A Malfoy?”

Draco put something – a pot? – down next to the door. He sketched a deep, graceful bow, right hand crossing over his breast bone and left hand spread to the side, palm up.

“Good evening. We have not yet been introduced. I am Draco Ignatius Abraxus Malfoy, thirty-seventh of the line of Armand Malfoy. I greet the Weasley family and hereby request Sanctuary for myself and my Bonded.”

At this he rose back up and gestured towards Harry. Next, he took out his wand with a little flourish, placed it across the flat of his palm and held it out towards Bill, head slightly lowered.

Harry stood there thunderstruck. He opened his mouth to… what? Deny being bonded? The Weasleys would find out soon enough. A nervous laugh escaped him. At the sound, Bill, who had been staring at Draco’s wand incredulously, looked over at him.

Harry closed his mouth slowly and gave a slow nod.

“Yeah, I am not so sure what Draco meant by sanctuary, but the, ah… the Death Eaters were making a bit of a nuisance out of themselves back at Malfoy Manor, so we thought it best to, ah… vacate the premises.” He would have expected Draco to take up that line of reasoning, but he was still holding that weird pose, waiting for something.

“Ah, Draco?” He murmured from the corner of his mouth.

Bill studied them with narrowed eyes, but eventually huffed a sigh and stepped forward. Lifting his wand again, he hesitatingly placed it atop Draco’s, barely touching, and said flatly: “The Weasley family welcomes Draco Ignatius Abraxas Malfoy of the line of Armand Malfoy and his Bonded.”

After a tense second, an orange tinged light seemingly leaked out of Bill’s wand and spread over Malfoy’s. It wavered, before stretching out towards Harry, who took a hasty step back. Bill’s eyes widened slightly. The light sunk into the wands and was gone.

“I’d hoped that was a dupe.” He turned around sharply and gestured towards the kitchen table. “Tea?”

“Yes, please,” Harry groaned and fell into one of the comfortably padded chairs, lowering his head down onto his arms.

Pocketing his wand, Draco relaxed his posture slightly. He reached behind his foot and set something on the kitchen table, then lowered himself next to Harry. It was a white flower in a pot.

“Tea would be lovely, thank you.”

Harry eyed Draco from beneath his fringe. This careful civility was so unlike him. His face was carefully neutral and it was only now, seeing it devoid of any emotion but polite attention, that Harry realised how open Draco’s demeanour had become around him over the last few weeks. He missed that other Draco with a sudden and fierce, hot jolt.

Clearing his throat, he took a sip of the steaming tea Bill placed before him. A noise of appreciation unhooked itself from somewhere deep inside him. Draco took his cup primly.

“Thank you very much. You wouldn’t happen to have a few biscuits at hand? Harry hasn’t eaten very much since an early lunch, and it’s quite late.”

Harry nearly snorted tea through his nose. Had Draco just… commandeered biscuits for him? This whole situation kept getting weirder and weirder.

Bill got a tin from a cupboard, sat down across from them, and fixed them with a stern look.

“You are Bonded?” was the first thing he said.

Harry and Draco shared a look. Draco nodded and Harry began to explain, about the potion accident, about the healing and the Death Eaters. He left out the bit about sharing a bed, but he felt like Bill got the idea anyway. When he came to their apparition after the train ride, Bill’s nose twitched and he tilted his head.

“Providing Pearls? They are an ancient and coveted artifact. Your mother must have been desperate, to give them to you.”

“What do they do?” Harry asked around his fifteenth biscuit.

“While being worn, they leech a tiny but steady thread of magical power from the person wearing them. It’s why they are considered Dark by some. They cannot be removed violently but have to be freely given. Once the wearer puts them down, they become invisible to everyone’s eyes but theirs. The strength they hold must be immense. They have been held by the Malfoy family for generations and generations. The bearer can use the power within to cast spells. I’ve heard other rumours about them, but that’s all I know for certain.”

“That’s why we were able to apparate in spite of the trace!” Harry realised.

“How come you know so much about an artifact of my line?” Draco asked tightly. His veneer of politeness had already slipped.

“I work for Gringotts.” Bill smiled a dangerous smile that made his eyes glitter. “You learn a lot about the old families and their riches by listening and speaking to the right goblins.”

Draco leaned forward and held Bill’s gaze. Harry looked away and fidgeted with his cup.

“And would you happen to have learned about a way to withdraw money from a family vault without a family member having to go there in person?” Draco asked in lowered tones.

Bill leaned back in his chair. His nose twitched again.

“Maybe. I will think about it. But for now, we’re all going to bed. You can take the twin’s room – the bed is big enough for two.”

“Where are they?” Harry asked, draining the dredges of his tea and carrying the cup towards the sink in the corner. He took Draco’s cup too.

Then he blinked. Had Bill just offered them a shared room? No, worse. A shared bed? Harry wasn’t quite sure he was ready to be that close to Draco, after the… Incident. Also, he really was exhausted.

“They're all at Aunt Adalberta’s for the weekend. She says she is dying and wants to see them before she goes. She’s been saying that for the last twenty-two years.” He smiled widely. “Fleur and I just got back from our honeymoon yesterday.”

Harry stopped short.

“Oh… right! Ron said something in a letter! I’m so sorry, I… with everything that’s been going on, I… Well. Congratulations!” He made as if to hug Bill, but then thought better of it, in light of the lack of clothing, and just offered his hand awkwardly. Bill laughed out loud and threw an arm across Harry’s shoulders.

“Not to worry! The feast was glorious and the twins shot loads of pictures with that Curious And Comical Camera of theirs. I’m sure they can be prevailed upon to show them to you, if you like. Now, off to bed with you. Malfoy looks like he is falling asleep in his chair. Tell him we can talk more over lunch. I don’t imagine you’ll be up for breakfast.”

He gave Harry a wink and a little wave. Rounding the first corner on the stairs, he flicked his wand and the candles went out, except for the one closest to Draco. The fire was reduced to low crackling embers. Draco’s head was propped up on his folded hands and he looked at Harry though half lidded eyes.

“What was that with the weird bow and what’s that flower doing on the table?” Harry wanted to ask, but before he could open his mouth, Malfoy beat him to it.

“Do you have a crush on him?” he drawled.

“What?” Harry squeaked.

“Well, he is rather fetching, I have to say. All that wild hair and the dangerous smile and that _ear piece _.__ A man could get ideas.” He got out of the chair and glided over to where Harry was standing next to the sink.

“Not to mention those muscles,” he murmured. He came very close. Too close.

Then he leaned in. Harry was undecided whether to shove him off and flee or pull him closer by his lapels and snog the life out of him.

Before he could decide to do either, Draco put his hands on the counter either side of Harry and inclined his head towards him. Every sense of Harry’s was on high alert. His skin tingled from head to toe, and Draco hadn’t even touched him yet.

Very deliberately, Draco lifted his left hand to drag his fingertips up Harry’s arm and shoulder leisurely, leaving goose bumps in his wake. His fingers lingered on Harry's neck before twisting into his hair suddenly. Harry gave a low hiss, whether of pain or pleasure, he didn't know himself. Draco used his leverage to tilt Harry’s head to the side. His lips ghosted over the shell of Harry’s ear.

“If you look at him like that again, I shall have to teach you what it means to be Bonded to a Malfoy,” he purred.

Slowly he closed the distance between their bodies and pressed his thigh between Harry’s legs. Harry’s breathing stopped. His whole body was one tense line.

“Now, let’s get some sleep.” Draco said lightly, let go of his hair and pushed off the counter. He walked towards the stairs without looking back.

Harry’s breath came back in a rush and he stood there, panting. Malfoy had…! The nerve of him! And in the bloody kitchen!

Trying to get his bearing, he breathed deeply a few times, brushed a hand through his hair and chugged down a glass of cold water. When he felt more put together, he went up the stairs.

Draco was waiting for him on the first landing.

“I don’t actually know which one the twin’s room is,” he said with an elegant lift of a shoulder.

“We are not taking the twin’s room,” Harry said.

“Why ever _not?_ ” Draco asked.

“We can’t just sleep in the same bed!” Harry hissed.

Draco snorted.

“Don’t be absurd, Potter. Did you forget? We are Bonded. For life. I’m aware you don’t know a lot about wizarding traditions, but surely even you can guess that that is enough of a reason to share a bed, not to mention a living?”

Harry’s head reeled. He hadn’t really let himself think about the consequences of it all. He just wanted to go to sleep in peace. He had no strength left to argue. He was weary.

“Please, Draco. I just need… a bit of space.” His shoulders slumped.

Draco seemed to see something in his expression, because after a moment, he nodded stiffly and drew himself up.

“Well. If you would be so kind as to show me the way to my room.”

Harry felt a brief pang to have made him go all polite again, but overall, he was just glad to be spared a scene.

“Yes, of course. This way.”


	3. Home Sweet Home?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is bewildered. Draco makes amends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For orientation: From my perspective, everything fits together best, when the potions accident happened before Harry cursed Draco with sectumsempra in the bathroom, because there is never any mention of the accident or any scars. That means, of course, that Harry was not in detention with Snape during the quidditch game, but could not have played either. He would have been sitting in the stands, as far from Draco as possible, and been very unhappy with the whole situation. He would not have been able to party with the rest of Gryffindor after the win and therefore, would not have kissed Ginny. Dumbledore would have given Harry and Draco adjoining rooms somewhere in Hogwarts, beds only seperated by a wall. They would have gone through a few weeks of juggling their classes and their studying, and Draco would not have been able to go to the room of requirement and work on the cabinet. Lucius would have managed to pass off the accident as an opportunity to Voldemort, therefore Draco's family would be safe for the time being. Hogwarts would not have been attacked by the Death Eaters et voilá; Dumbledore is still alive. All the other plot details will be reveiled throughout the story. 
> 
> Please enjoy.

What Harry had not expected to see the next day, when he came down to hunt the delicious smell creeping up the stairs and through the crack of his door, was Draco Malfoy holding a lively conversation with Fleur Delacour – no, Weasley – in the midst of the homely chaos that was the Weasley kitchen. They were truly a picture to behold. He was sitting at the head of the table, cup of tea lifted daintily and top three buttons undone. He was eerily handsome with his friendly look and open mien. Fleur was standing to his left. Her apron was stained with flour and she was enthusiastically waving about a pair of serving tongs. French flowed freely from her lips and she was absolutely radiant. Her hair was carefully braided down the back and her smile so lovely, Harry took a step towards her involuntarily. He bumped into Bill’s shoulder, who was leaning against the staircase, watching the scene with an amused glint in his eyes.

“Oh, uh, sorry. Good morning,” Harry muttered, rubbing his neck.

“Good morning, Harry,” Bill answered, broad smile showcasing his white teeth.

Over at the table, Draco was listening intently to Fleur and then answered her in the same melodious tones. His hands accentuated whatever it was he was saying with wild gesticulating.

“Uhhh… did I miss something?” He asked Bill stupidly.

“Well. Apparently, Fleur and Draco have fond memories of the same holiday places in France,” Bill said. “From what I could gather they were talking about Lombardy and Brittany, among others. But I think now they’ve gone on to skin care products,” he added laughingly.

Bewildered, Harry looked back to the table, where Fleur was just reaching out to stroke a strand of Draco’s hair between thumb and forefinger. The monster that had lain dormant inside him for weeks woke up and hissed. ‘Don’t touch him,’ he wanted to spit. Abruptly, Draco lifted his gaze and stared at him. Then he smiled sweetly and said something to Fleur in French. She let go of his hair, pivoted on the spot, and saw them standing by the stairs.

“Oh, ‘Arry! Eet is so nice to see you again!” She trilled and rounded the table.

Harry shuffled his feet nervously. Draco leaned back in his chair, smirking. When Fleur reached him, she touched his shoulders lightly and kissed both his cheeks.

“Don’t worry, I will not take ‘im away from you. ‘e does not ‘ave eyes but for you,” she half-whispered in his ear.

It took Harry a moment to comprehend her meaning.

“Oh! No, I know – I mean, uh, that’s alright.” What was he stammering about? His cheeks were surely heating. She let go of him and leaned into Bill, kissing him square on the mouth. Harry hastily went to get himself a cup of tea.

Draco was watching him.

“Good morning, darling. Fleur set the table for us both.”

Harry turned around, cup in hand. Draco gestured towards the table. A single red rose in an elegant vase sat between two plates, which were too close together. Cup and knife, butter and jam and chocolate spread where all on the table. It was clearly laid out for a couple. Draco got up gracefully and stepped around the chair on his right to pull it out from under the table. When Harry just stood there staring at him, his eyebrows lifted meaningfully.

“Won’t you sit down?”

Warily Harry came forward. He half expected Malfoy to pull the chair out from under him, but as he sat down, Malfoy merely took his cup and filled it from the pot, then added a splash of milk and set it down before him.

“Uh, thanks.” Harry mumbled.

Malfoy was unnervingly accommodating. What was his game?

“Oh, look at zem! So sweet!”

Fleur stepped over and brandished the serving tongs, swiftly putting two croissants on Harry’s plate. Bill plonked himself down opposite Harry.

“Am I not to get breakfast, my angel?” He asked, noticing his lack of a plate.

“Oh, silly man, of course I ‘ave made breakfast for all of us. But us two weell eat on ze terrasse, to geeve zose two some space.” She winked at Harry.

“Oh, no, that’s alright, Fleur, really! You can eat here with us! Right, Draco?”

“Don’t be silly. I know ‘ow it eez in zis ‘ouse, wiz all ze people and never a quiet minute. You enjoy it until the ozers are back,” she insisted, while pulling her apron over her head. With that, she marched out the door, two plates with croissants, cups and knifes bobbing after her.

“Well. There is no arguing with her when she get’s something in that pretty head of hers.” Bill sighed and got up. “Actually, she’s a lot like mum in that way. But don’t tell her I said that!” He took one of the glasses of jam, waved at them and followed Fleur out the door.

Silence stretched. Draco was buttering his croissant and sipping his tea as if he were sitting at the high table in the grand breakfast room of Malfoy Manor, next to his family, surrounded by decadent splendour. Even his tyniest movement was graceful and precise. Harry nearly expected him to say “Mother, would you please pass the salt,” or something. (But of course, in normal wizarding families, the salt comes to the wizard, not the other way round.)

However, he was actually sitting in the warm, happy, cluttered kitchen of the burrow. Home to a family Draco had insulted time and again. A family, whose only daughter had nearly been killed by his father. Quietly eating breakfast next to a boy he had insulted, threatened, taunted and even kicked in the face when he was unable to defend himself. How in Merlin’s name could he be so …placid? How could he talk to Bill and Fleur as if he were their friend? How could he sit here with Harry as if they really were… bonded.

Harry looked over at Draco again. His shirt – it was the same shirt he had been wearing the day before – was clean and without wrinkles. When he looked under the table, Malfoy’s trousers were also clean and his shoes shone like they had just been polished. When he came back up, Malfoy looked at him sceptically, one perfect eyebrow raised. Harry really had to practice that move – it wasn’t half bad.

“Did you get sent a change of clothes after all?”

Draco snorted. “As is comes, Fleur is quite handy with all the wardrobe and cosmetic charms I never bothered to learn.”

Harry imagined Fleurs magic all over Draco’s wardrobe and touching his skin. He did his best to hold back a grunt.

“A problem, poppet?” Malfoy asked.

“Uh, yeah, actually,” Harry said. “For starters, please don’t call me that stupid name in public anymore.”

“What; Harry? I don’t think it’s that bad a name.”

“No… you know what I mean.”

“Well, if you insist, I will of course cease calling you familiar names _in public_ , darling.”

“Oh, for… you know exactly what I meant!” Harry scraped his chair back from the table as he shot up and started walking back and forth between the kitchen and the living room. “How can you be so… so… argh!”

He felt odd since they’d come here. He couldn’t quite place it, but something was wrong with this situation. No, everything was wrong with this situation.

“How can you sit here like it’s your own house?” He accused. “How can you talk to them like they are your friends, when, a few weeks ago, you would gladly have handed all of us over to Voldemort!”

Draco put down his croissant, picked up his cup and sat back in his chair. His manner was suddenly all business.

“The situation has changed drastically from a few weeks ago. I am merely trying to adapt.”

Harry thought about this furiously, clenching his fists, pacing.

“So, we are bonded, right? And we can’t take that back, I guess,” he continued after a few minutes.

“Well, that’s why it’s called an Indissoluble Bond.”

“Yes, exactly. But now, we can be apart, can’t we? We don’t actually _have_ to be together, like, being in the same place.”

Draco’s mouth twisted.

“Well, I suppose that’s correct. But you can’t be with anyone else, either.”

Harry stopped short.

“I can’t?” He said.

“First of all, it’s illegal by wizarding law to be with someone else when you are bound by magic and have consummated the bond – which we have! Second, who else did you want to be with? Who else would want to be with _you_ for that matter, bonded to _me_?”

“Maybe I would have met someone.” Harry said, face flushed.

“Maybe you-“ Draco began and sat up, but Harry interrupted him.

“That’s not actually what I wanted to talk about. Can’t we not argue for five minutes straight?”

Draco’s face was grim but he sat back in his chair again.

“Well then – what did you want to talk about?” He asked flatly.

Harry started pacing again.

“Okay, well, even if we were not together,” and he held up a finger, fearing Draco would interrupt again, “if I die, you die too, right?”

Draco gave one jerking nod.

“So, you are on our side now, correct?”

“I thought we have been over this…?” Draco asked wearily.

“No, I mean yes, just making sure. We can see through each other’s eyes. And we can feel what the other person feels at times, I mean physically, right?”

Draco’s eyebrows shot up. He got a calculating look for a second, but then nodded.

“What?” Harry wanted to know. “You do too, right?”

“I –“ Draco began, but then the floo lit up with bright green flames and Molly Weasley came stepping out the grate. She landed nearly on top of Harry.

“Oh, Harry dear!” She beamed and stretched out her arms. “I hadn’t expected you to come! What a lovely surprise!” She hugged him tight and then looked him up and down. “How are you doing, my dear? Ron told us all about that dreadful potions business, of course. But here you are now, so all is well, I presume?” She clapped his shoulder and was about to start with the next thing when the grate flamed green again and Arthur Weasley walked out into the by now quite crowded living room. He looked over Mrs. Weasley’s shoulder and froze.

Malfoy had gotten up from his seat. He stepped forward and bowed deeply towards them. Mrs. Weasley started and her hand flew to her mouth. She let go of Harry’s shoulder.

“Mrs. Weasley, Mr. Weasley, we have never been formally introduced. My name is Draco Ignatius Abraxus Malfoy, thirty-seventh of the line of Armand Malfoy. I have been welcomed into this house under Sanctuary together with my Bonded,” he straightened and gestured towards Harry” by your son William Arthur Weasley.” He took a deep breath, then went down on one knee and took out his wand. Mrs. Weasley gasped.

“I apologise on behalf of my blood,” here he drew his wand across his left palm and blood started pooling in it’s centre,” for any insult or injury to any member of your line caused by any member of my line. I am your servant, excluding all services owned by my Bonded, until I pay the price you name by which I would be free.”

Harry stared dumfounded as Draco set his wand down in his left hand, closed it around the shaft and drew it once along it’s length. The blood smeared across the wood and after a second, was sucked into it. When he got up, he stumbled slightly and would have fallen, had Harry not moved instinctively and, catching him around the middle, helped him back towards the chair.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley stood next to the hearth in total silence. Harry was not perfectly sure what the meaning of Draco’s gesture had been, but it’s effect had certainly been profound. If he understood correctly, then Draco had apologised? And offered something in the way of servitude? Was that to be taken literally or was it just a phrase of some kind?

After a minute, Mrs. Weasley stirred and hastened towards Draco. “Let me have a look at that, dear,” she said. Harry expected Draco to refuse or at least hesitate, but he opened his left palm obediently and set it in Mrs. Weasley’s outstretched one. “That was a very foolish thing to do, young man,” she scolded, as she drew her wand along the edge of the wound. “You well know we could ask for your land, your house, your titles and everything that you own the moment you come of age.” The wound was stubborn and did not close all the way, but it stopped bleeding. Molly made a clucking sound with her tongue. “My dear Arthur, please get me that salve and a good length of bandage from the second draw on the right, third row down, from the big cabinet.”

When her husband had handed the items over, she carefully cleaned the wound with the salve and bandaged it. Then she just held Draco’s hand in hers. “Look at me, young man.” Draco lifted his head immediately and looked at her. “It was a foolish thing to do, but it must have taken you great courage to do it.” She patted his hand and let go.

“Now, how come you are here and not at Malfoy Manor, where you were to be until school started?” She asked and sat down next to Draco.

“A fact which Ron never made us forget by complaining about it loudly and without pause,” Bill declared as he walked in the door. Fleur entered behind him and set the dishes to wash themselves, before sitting down next to Bill.

And then Draco recounted it all again. Harry would have thought him to be reluctant, but he left nothing out and gave great detail when Mrs. Weasley interjected questions to clarify something. Harry’s ears went hot a few times during the history and Mr. Weasley cleared his throat nervously when it came to the sleeping arrangements. Draco made it quite clear what they had been up to. His face flushed unbecomingly, but he never paused his recounting. Fleur listened to it all with an indulgent smile. Bill merely cocked his head when he heard information that seemed to interest him, especially when it came to Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy’s behaviour. Mrs. Weasley exclaimed in shocked outrage at Draco’s description of the caning and patted Harry’s cheek when he spoke of how Harry had helped him up the stairs and healed his wounds. “Well done, Harry,” she said. When Draco finished at last with their arrival at the burrow, the table was steeped in a contemplative hush.

“Quite the tale,” Bill huffed eventually.

“And he has not yet told you about the foolish thing he did half an hour ago, as soon as Arthur and I set foot in the house.”

Draco blushed again and look down at his hands.

“Well?” Bill asked impatiently.

“An Oath of Servitude,” Draco whispered, “to make amends.”

After a second’s pause, Bill burst out laughing in great guffaws, startling everyone assembled.

“Sorry, I am so sorry,” he said in between crying tears of delight, “but it’s just such an incredible circumstance. The only Malfoy heir, beholden to the Weasley family!”

His mirth ebbed into quiet chuckles. Fleur clapped him over the head quite sharply. “Eet was really a very ‘onourable zing to do. You should not laugh at Draco so.” Then she turned to Draco and clasped her hands in front of her. “Eet is such a romantic story. I am glad you escaped those mean men and now you can be togezzer for ever!” She sighed happily.

“Yes, quite.” Mrs. Weasley said. “Draco, you can stay in the twin’s room and Harry will bunk in with Ronald. There will be no sharing a bed in this house until you both become of age!” She lifted an admonishing finger.

“Very well,” Draco said. Harry coughed. He had experienced enough embarrassment today to last the next year!

“But for now, let’s get lunch on the way,” Mrs. Weasley said cheerily and began cluttering about in the kitchen.

“Let me ‘elp you, Molly.” Fleur got up and put on her apron.

“Oh, no, dear, that’s perfectly alright. You go and have a nice long walk with Bill.”

“Eet is no trouble. We will go ‘ome tonight, so I will spend ze rest of ze day with all ze family.”

Mrs. Weasley sighed but resigned herself to her fate.

Mr. Weasley crossed the room to lean in towards Draco. “Molly and I will talk about all this in the evening, but rest assured: you are welcome to stay here as long as you need to.”

“Thank you, sir,” Draco responded.

“Well.” He eyed them and cleared his throat. “Great to have you as well, Harry. I will just…” He muttered, took his copy of the Daily Prophet and went to sit in his armchair.

Harry fell into the seat across from Draco and blew out a breath. Draco was staring at his bandaged hand as if it had turned around and bitten him.

“Can you please go back to your usual prattish self now? I really can’t cope with this meek version of you.”

Draco’s grin was wolfish. “Oh, darling, miss me already?"

"Oh, shut up." Harry rolled his eyes but couldn’t supress an answering grin.

“You ok?” He asked quietly and leaned forward.

Draco’s eyes lifted to his. He just gazed at him for half a minute before he cleared his throat.

“Yes, I’m fine, Harry.” He said earnestly. Then he lowered his head onto Harry’s arm atop the table and closed his eyes. “That was awful,” he added quietly.

“Draco…” Harry started but he didn’t really know what to say. Mrs. Weasley was keeping busy and Mr. Weasley was hidden behind his paper, but he bet they were listening to every word. At least, they seemed to be alright with the way things were, for the moment. Maybe Harry could be alright with things, too.

Then the flames in the hearth flamed green once more, and Ginny stepped out of the grate.


	4. Losing Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry can't hold himself back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks, thanks for your patience! I am uploading this chapter now, but I might change some small things about it, so don't be surprised when you reread it and some words are different. I just didn't want to make you wait any longer.
> 
> Sometimes you just have to take the plunge. I could have edited this for another month and wouldn't have been happy 100%, but here you go.
> 
> Anyway, please enjoy :)

The whole thing had been so much like Ginny, Harry really should have expected a reaction exactly like this. What he could not have foreseen was his own forceful response to Draco being threatened in this – all things considered – rather harmless way. After all, Ginny was only a 15-year-old girl and Harry had experienced multiple attacks by grown up Death Eaters and, not to mention, faced an angry Mrs. Weasley more than once. The latter was a lot higher on the scariness scale, as far as he was concerned. Still, the panic he had felt upon Ginny’s hastily drawn wand and ear-piercingly screeched insults had been sharper than any he had felt before, even at the graveyard. He knew where she got her fierceness from, anyway.

Now, he sat at the dining table, stunned, disbelieving eyes sweeping over the scene. The kitchen was an unholy mess. Pots and pans lay scattered. Shards of broken glasses, cups and plates were strewn across the floor and counter tops and even some of the windows were cracked. The armchair Mr. Weasley had sat in was still upside down and half the chairs were in pieces, all of them toppled over. The flour bag Mrs. Weasley had placed on the counter had been thrown against the wall and exploded in a loud bang, and by now the flour had set on every surface of the room and made the scene look eerily like a cheap Christmas shopping window display. Even Fleur looked a little dishevelled as she danced about the room, righting furniture and muttering _reparos_. Her every step puffed up a small cloud of the white powder.

Ron stood on the ruined carpet, a fierce scowl on his face. He’d only just flooed in. His gaze flitted across the wreckage and got stuck on Fleur’s moving form.

“What the bloody hell happened here?” He asked the room at large after he’d finished watching her retying her French braid. “And what is _he_ doing here?” He added, rounding on Draco, who sat in his chair, not a hair out of place, while everything and everyone around him looked like a gang of pixies had given it their all to tear down the place. A drunken, furious gang of pixies who had come back to their nest after a good round of beers in the pub around the corner, only to find their front door knocked down and their grandmothers abducted and had then sworn to take revenge on the next best wizarding lair they came across.

“It was glorious,” Fred – or was it George? – declared, before Harry could even open his mouth. The twins had exited the floo right as Ginny had drawn her wand and thus witnessed the whole sordid spectacle.

“Our dear sister-”

“-who from now on we will lovingly refer to as-”

“- ** _the Banshee_** -,” they intoned together,

“-was ready to rip Malfoy’s throat right out-”

“-for daring to touch her beloved Saviour.”

They both sighed theatrically and batted their eyelashes at Harry.

“Our Harry-”

“-hero that he is-,” sung George – or was it Fred? –

“-defended his blushing bride-” (Draco glowered at them from the side)

“-and proceeded to-”

“-what was it that he did, Fred?”

“Well, George, I believe he cast a silent-”

“-and wandless-”

“- _protego_ shield that blasted-”

“- ** _the whole kitchen to shreds_** ,” they finished.

“Wicked,” Ron breathed and whistled a low note as he slowly turned full circle, taking it all in once more.

“Where’s the others then?” he asked with good cheer. He seemed to be wholly unconcerned about the state of his mother’s kitchen.

“I hurt her,” Harry moaned, anguished. “I hurt Ginny, Ron!”

He carded his hands through his hair. How often had Hermione told him it was important that he practiced control over his accidental magic? That he learn to keep his emotions in check? He had broken things before with his magic and had given people a scare, but never had he truly hurt anyone with an outburst.

“What do you mean?” Ron asked, demeanour changing to serious in a heartbeat. “Where is she?”

“Mum and dad took her to see Madam Pomfrey,” Bill explained distractedly, mumbling as he put one of the chairs back together. “She was thrown back from the force of the shield and hit her head on the cabinet. Nothing serious, I’d wager, but it’s better to have it looked at when it comes to head injuries.”

“Ah, she’ll be fine,” Ron said, waving a hand. “She’s had worse on the pitch. Don’t worry about it, Harry.” He looked about for a chair to sit down in but found them all still in various states of disrepair. “But why did you defend the git in the firs… oh, right. You’d have gotten that Bat Boogey Hex too.” He clapped Harry on the shoulder. “Knew you were scared of her. But _that_ scared…” he sniggered.

“She ‘as brought it upon ‘erself. Eet is never a wise idea to zreaten somebody’s bonded partner, especially when that certain someone is as magically powerful as ‘Arry,” Fleur threw in.

“What do you mean?” Ron asked, frowning. “Bonded partner…?”

Harry hesitated. How could he explain this without Ron blowing the roof off the house?

“As we understand the situation, Ronniekins-,“ Fred stepped in,

“-Harry here has managed to get himself permanently bonded to our favourite Slytherin-,” George stated with glee,

“-if what mum tried to explain to Ginny can be believed.” They were both grinning madly, as if this was the finest joke they’d heard in a year.

“Don’t take it meanly, Harry-”

“-but this is the best entertainment you provided us with since fighting that dragon for its golden egg!” Fred exclaimed earnestly.

“Better, actually, for the show will go on in perpetuity, in the best-case scenario.”

“In the worst…” he waggled his eyebrows.

“Let’s take wagers on who kills whom first,” George smirked.

Ron was now staring at Harry. “But… but Hermione said the unfettering brew will be ready in September! We’ll have the git off our hands in three weeks,” he stated hotly, desperately clinging to reality as he knew it.

Harry opened his mouth but he didn’t even know where to start. He closed it again, helplessly.

“What are you doing here anyway?” Ron continued. “Don’t get me wrong, mate, I’m glad you’re here so we can keep an eye on the ferret,” he jerked his chin at Draco, “but didn’t his father insist you stayed there for the whole month?”

“Ron, look,” Harry began, but Draco, who had been watching the exchanges with the air of an indulgent parent, interrupted him. “It’s all very well if you want to recount the events of the last two days _again_ ,” he said flatly as he got up, “but maybe you should wait with that until Granger gets here, because she’ll undoubtedly have you describe every detail you remember and have a thousand question for every detail you don’t.” He shoved past Ron and headed towards the staircase. “I’ll be in my room, if you need me.”

“What do you mean, _your room_!” Ron shouted after him, but Draco ignored him and vanished up the stairs.

“Let’s get the place in order before mum gets back and then you two can sit down and discuss everything,” Bill suggested, before Ron could stomp after Draco.

Ron didn’t look happy about it, but he bowed to the wisdom of his older brother, or maybe he knew what was in store for them if Mrs. Weasley came back and found them lazing about. They all got to work quickly. He and Ron helped collect the broken shards and put them on the table in neat piles, sorted by colour and material, as much as was possible. Unsurprisingly, the twins were very handy with fixing charms. They put every item back together and Fleur rinsed each one before putting it away. In the meantime, Bill did his best to get rid of the flour with vanishing and cleaning charms. Finally, they repaired the last of the broken chairs and the cracked windows. They were done before the clock stroke two. Everything was clean and tidy. Tidier than it had been before, to tell the truth. The twins flooed home to their flat above the shop to work on a few ideas Aunt Adalberta had supposedly given them.

“She’s mad as a hatter,” George whispered to Harry, eyes sparkling, as he stepped into the grate.

“Don’t blow the place up again, Harry,” Fred laughed as he was swallowed by the green fire.

“Zose two…” Fleur chuckled, shaking her head, and went on to finish the late lunch Mrs. Weasley had started preparing earlier. Bill kept snuggling up to her, wandering hands grabbing pieces of the unfinished meal, among other things. Their incessant chuckling drove Harry and Ron from the house.

Ron was still tense. His brow was furrowed and he was unnaturally quiet, even though they hadn’t seen each other in five weeks.

“Let’s practice a bit,” Harry suggested and at Ron’s terse nod, he went upstairs to get the shrunken broom he had taken along from the Malfoy estate. It was a Nimbus 2001. Ron grimaced when he saw it.

It was another hot August day, the sky blown wide and the sun glaring. The garden had been almost ethereal in the moonlight yesterday, but now Harry saw the patchy grass and the wilting flowers. Had the different light made it so special…?

Ron was so quiet. Why wasn’t he saying anything? He must have a thousand questions. He must be angry…

…someone would need to water those moonlilies…

They were halfway to the shed when Harry blurted:

“Basically, Draco saved my life.”

It was like he had uncorked a bottle of champagne after it had been shaken violently. Ron stopped, then whirled around so quickly, he nearly mowed Harry over.

“Oh, he saved your life, did he? Well, then everything is just _fine_ , isn’t it? Lucky you had _Draco_ there to _get your back_ ,” he spat at Harry. “What do _I_ need to know. I’m only your best friend. No need to inform me at all. Not like you need _me_. Gonna tell me what happened at some point? Confess what you did?” Ron didn’t even break long enough for Harry to answer, stomping on towards the shed. “I knew from the start it was a bad idea you went there. Dumbledore should never have bloody allowed it. Something was bound to go wrong!” He had clenched his hands into tight fists. “Next time, I’ll come with you. None of this would have bloody happened.” With the last word, he threw a punch against the wall of the shed.

“Do you want to know what happened or don’t you?” Harry snapped, a little irritated by Ron’s hostility. Ron didn’t answer but after a second, he motioned for Harry to continue with a scowl. Harry sighed.

“So, his mum asked us to repair a broken wall on the edge of the estate. We flew over,” he held up the Numbus 2001, “and put the stones back on the wall. When we were finished and turned to go, one of the boulders tumbled loose and hit me in the chest.” Harry rubbed his breastbone unconsciously. “I’d healed Draco’s back before-“ at this Ron halted on the doorstep, gave him a dark look and opened his mouth, but Harry raised his voice, “-and so we knew it was possible. He came over and put his hands on my chest. The bone was coming out and it was… not looking good. Then he somehow… pulled, or pushed, and the wound closed up slowly. There was something else there, too, that he pulled out, somehow. This horrible green goo, it’s hard to explain. Anyway, my scar is gone,” he added and lifted his fringe.

Ron came closer and stared at his forehead. Then he sat down hard on the floor of the shed.

“And you didn’t think to mention all this before?” he accused him.

Harry leaned against the doorway.

“What, send a quick note while the Death Eaters where chasing us though the forest? ‘Just wanted to tell you we’ll be coming over. My scar is gone because Draco healed my fatal chest injury. Also, we’re bonded for life now.’ Something along those lines?”

Ron looked vaguely ill. “Death Eaters?”

“Yeah. Like… 20 of them.”

“Bugger.”

“Yeah…”

Ron was quiet for a good minute, opening the broom cupboard and making a show of inspecting every single one. They were all a bit sad looking.

“He didn’t have to save me.” Harry said quietly into the silence. “He… he never even hesitated.” Looking back towards the house, Harry knew exactly were Draco was, sitting in his room, alone. Was he working on something? Was he catching up on sleep? Was he lounging around on the bed, bored? There was a way to find out. Would it be like it had been on the train? Harry closed his eyes and focused. Almost instantly, he could see a worn wooden desk with deep scratches and scorch marks and Draco’s hand gracefully holding a quill, writing what seemed to be a letter. His fingers were long and a bit bony. With a jolt, Harry remembered where those fingers had been before. He quickly opened his eyes. Luckily, Ron hadn’t noticed his absentmindedness.

“So you chose to…” Ron coughed and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. “I thought you hated him. I thought we all hated him.” His hand paused in the action of straightening some bristles, buried between the twigs.

 _I do_ , Harry wanted to say, but it wasn’t the truth anymore. Whatever he thought about Draco, it wasn’t fuelled by the same relentless, blind loathing it had been before. But how to put into words what he couldn’t even understand himself? What they had done at the manor had seemed so natural, back then.

Who was he kidding? It had been glorious. The best thing he had ever done.

“I did. But not anymore.” Harry said shortly, pushed off the doorway and mounted his broom in one smooth motion.

###

They only played for half an hour. Sweat was dripping from Harry’s every pore and he was constantly having to remind himself not to go full out. Ron didn’t stand a chance, anyway. It seemed he hadn’t played much over the last weeks and Harry had practiced with Draco nearly every day. He didn’t mention this, but by the looks Ron gave him, it seemed he at least suspected something along those lines.

“I give up. It’s just not fair with you on that broom,” Ron panted as he lay in the grass, chest heaving. Harry sat down next to him.

“Yeah. I’ll take one of yours next time,” he said apologetically, plucking blades of grass and fiddling with them. He had expected Ron to stomp inside and start a fight with Draco, or to shout at him some more, or at least to ask loads of angry passive-aggressive questions. However, he was just lying there, eyes closed, breathing deeply. The only outward sign he showed for any uneasiness were the lines on his forehead.

Apparently, it was Harry’s job to stop ignoring the dragon in the room. “So…. we arrived at the Dursley’s…” he started after a while and told Ron the whole story from the beginning, putting in things he had left out in his letters, like how Draco had cowed the Dursley’s into submission and how they’d been to Diagon together. They laughed ten solid minutes as Harry recounted the pixies incident, but Ron grew very still when Harry talked about how Draco had been punished by his father. Ron’s mood was pensive as Harry described the healing and stayed that way until Fleur called them both inside for a late lunch.

The meal was a quiet affair. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were not yet back and Draco had elected to take his food in his room. Bill and Fleur’s half-whispered sweet talk made Harry and Ron cringe and hurry to empty their plates. Luckily, the two love birds bade them farewell after lunch, having decided to leave for their new home earlier.

“This is our address, Harry,” Bill said, handing him a piece of paper. “We are not taking any chances with this war.” Harry took it gingerly. The writing vanished as soon as he’d read it.

“I gave it to Draco, too,” he added. At Harry’s astonished look, Bill took him aside and said softly: “At the risk of sounding patronising… I’d advise you, Harry, to be patient with him and try to understand his position. The world Draco grew up in is very different to your own. It might be difficult for you to grasp this, but Draco is committed to you now. I know how purebloods think, Harry. He will always act in your best interest. Granted, his definition might differ from yours in this, as well as his methods, but fundamentally, you can trust him. Don’t be too hard on him. And now, fare well and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

He winked and stepped over toward Fleur, who was already standing at the grate. Harry blushed. He hadn’t planned on doing anything, anyway.

“Au revoir, ‘Arry!” Fleur said, as she kissed his cheeks. Bill clapped Ron on the shoulder and Fleur made him blush as she kissed him in goodbye, too. “Au revoir, Ron!”

“Bye!” Ron waved enthusiastically until they’d vanished.

“She’s practically you sister, now,” Harry needled him as they went upstairs to take showers, “so you really shouldn’t pine after her so much.”

Ron nearly shoved him down the stairs.

“Shut up. I noticed the way you looked at Ginny earlier in the year, and she’s practically your sister, too,” he countered.

“Well, but she’s just… she really…”

“No! I don’t want to hear it! It’s just plain gross!” Ron said, holding up a hand.

They bickered the whole way through putting up the spare bed in Ron’s room. Harry knew he could ask Mrs. Weasley to put him up in Bill’s or Percy’s old room, but he preferred to be with Ron anyway. Sleeping in the eery quiet of an empty room set his senses on high alert in the same way that hearing Ron snore and shuffle about sent him right into an easy sleep.

Ron chucked a fresh pair of boxers, shorts and a shirt at him and vanished into the bathroom quickly, so the cushion Harry hurled at him in retaliation hit the door with a dull thump, to the sound of Ron’s heartfelt sniggering. He fell back onto the mattress, glad they seemed to be alright.

The water went on in the other room and Harry felt at home for the first time in weeks. He could nearly forget Draco was there in the house, writing mysterious letters and being unnaturally unobtrusive. Now that he thought about it, Draco was not at all behaving like Harry had expected. He’d been a bit rude to Ron, but there had been no taunting, no insults. Well, it would be quite the thing to insult someone in their own home, even for Draco.

And that weird blood ritual he had done. Why had he done that? Was it really to make amends? It couldn’t be. He would have been able to do it the whole time if he really felt that bad about what his family had done to the Weasleys. Mrs. Weasley had said they could ask for all his possessions, so it must be something very serious and very binding. But that was the nature of spells involving blood, wasn’t it? That’s the reason most of Blood Magic was considered Dark Magic. No wonder Malfoy knew how to do that kind of thing.

He’d just sliced his palm open without batting an eye. Harry shuddered.

###

When Harry came down from his own shower, Ron was nowhere to be seen, but Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were sitting at the table in quiet conversation with Draco. Mrs. Weasley spent half the time gazing at the potted plant Draco had brought inside yesterday, and the other half stroking its leaves tenderly. Miraculously, it seemed to have survived the earlier ordeal.

“Harry, dear, come sit down with us. Would you like a cup of tea?” she asked after she noticed him. She waved her wand and a cup and saucer came neatly flying out the cupboard. They were in a different place than Fleur had put them before. Actually, there was a whole pile of kitchen utensils and crockery sitting on one of the sideboards, evidently wating to be sorted into their proper places. Harry thought Fleurs arrangement had been quite sensible, but he prudently held his tongue.

“Draco here has just been telling us about your plans,” Mr. Weasley said, as Harry sat down and took his cup with a mumbled thanks.

“Uhm… actually, is Ginny doing alright?” Harry asked with an apologetic look at Mr. Weasley for interrupting him. “I’m really sorry about what happened earlier…”

Plans? He glanced at Draco who sat there cool as a winter lake.

“Don’t you fret, Harry, it was just an accident and she’ll be right as rain in no time. The headmaster kindly allowed her to stay in the Hogwarts infirmary overnight, so Poppy can keep an eye on her for a few more hours. It was just a concussion and a few bruises, nothing serious,” Mrs. Weasley said and patted his hand. “However, you might want to speak to Professor Dumbledore about some extra lessons in keeping that temper of yours in check. Combined with your magic’s strength, it could land you in big trouble someday. As an adult member of magical society, it’s important you learn sufficient control over you magic.”

Harry felt his cheeks heat. He ducked his head. “Yes, I… that might be a good idea.”

If only Mrs. Weasley knew what kind of extra lessons Professor Dumbledore had been taking with him. She would be horrified to know Harry had supported him in finding heavily warded, cursed and volatile pieces of Voldemort’s soul and worked on understanding his twisted worldview, in order to destroy him with that knowledge.

“I must be very against the idea of you two sharing quarters in Hogwarts, of course. But I understand very well it is not feasible for you to return to your dormitories. Maybe a set of rooms in the guest corridor? Something with separate bedrooms perhaps. Yes, that should do it. I will speak to Albus about it. He will see reason, I’m sure.” Mrs. Weasley went on.

Wait, what? What did she mean, going back to the dormitories wasn’t feasible?

“Not… not go back to the dormitories? Why would that…? …but we are still students!” Harry protested feebly.

“Of course, Harry, of course,” Mr. Weasley was swift to comfort him, “you are far too young to live as a bonded couple in my opinion, but the law is quite clear on the matter. Bonds like yours,” he looked at Harry and Draco gravely, “are considered a legal connection stronger by far than a mere marriage contract.”

“But, we are not even of age!” Harry objected with more vehemence this time.

“This is a very special circumstance, Harry. You see, the bond can only form, when…” Mr. Weasley cleared his throat and looked at his wife pleadingly.

“Bonds like this are made by magic and based on consent and on…” she blushed an unbecoming shade of red that clashed with her hair.

“On singular devotion expressed through physical union,” Draco drawled. “What Molly and Arthur are trying to explain is that a person has to be sexually matured for the bond to take hold, so underage is not a legal constraint for the bond to be recognised officially.”

Mr. Weasley nodded.

“Exactly. Well put,” he said.

Harry felt like he was floating. Something that had held him securely on the ground had been cut loose.

“I… I understand that, but why does that mean we can’t go back into the dormitories? The bond was an accident!” he said angrily. “It’s not like we want to actually be together!”

Draco’s mouth thinned. He looked at his cup of tea silently. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley went awfully quiet. Then Mr. Weasley got up.

“I think we should leave you two to talk about this. Or better yet, why don’t you two go sit in my study? Nobody will bother you there.”

“Yes, that might be best, thank you, Arthur,” Draco said and got up as well.

Harry vaguely felt offended that Draco was calling Mr. Weasley by his first name, but most of his attention was held by the increasing anxiety that bubbled up from his stomach. Why did his life have to be so complicated? Bugger that, his life had been complicated before. Why did it have to get worse every year? Like being destined to get rid of a mad Dark Wizard wasn’t enough. Like losing the last family he’d had wasn’t enough. Now he would have to give up the only thing he had truly looked forward to in his last year at Hogwarts: spending as much time with his friends as he possibly could, before he was faced with the decision of where go from there; trying to get through endless days on his own, with no assurance that, like now, he could go back home, after the holidays.

He got up numbly, following Mr. Weasley and Draco up the stairs. Mrs. Weasley, whose face was a bit pinched, was hot on their heels.

“Arthur!” she said in a loud whisper, but Mr. Weasley just kept going. They went to the third floor and entered the first door on the right, which Harry had never opened before. It was a small room with one desk and one extra armchair. The walls were crammed with books, but it was surprisingly tidy.

“Please, take your time. We’ll be right downstairs, if you need anything,” Mr. Weasley said.

“Thank you, Arthur,” Draco said. It all sounded incredibly far away to Harry, like he was floating towards the ceiling in a dream.

“Arthur, are you sure?” Molly’s voice carried through the door. “We should at least leave the door ajar…”

“They are very nearly grown men, my pearl. There is no need to supervise them and I dare say it would be rather invasive. Now, off we go.” Arthur replied gently as their steps faded.

Draco took a look around, then rolled over the muggle desk chair with a grimace and gingerly sat down, gesturing towards the armchair.

“Please, sit down.”

Harry sat.

Silence reigned.

His breathing felt funny, as if he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs to think straight. He put his head down and covered his face with his hands.

“Harry.”

Draco’s voice was barely audible. There was something heavy in it, and vulnerable. It made Harry look up. Draco sat in the ridiculous chair that made him seem very much out of place. Draco belonged in fancy leather armchairs or red velvet seats. He should not be here. This was wrong. He did not belong in this house.

The thought made Harry inexplicably sad.

Draco looked into his eyes. Then he got up gradually and came towards him, one step at a time. When Harry didn’t do anything, Draco took his wrists and moved his hands down. Softly, he cupped Harry’s chin and pulled his face up. Checking his reaction, he slowly bent down towards him. Harry couldn’t move at all. There was no energy in him to resist this intense gentleness.

Draco’s lips, when they met his, felt different than they had before when they’d kissed. There was no movement, just a lingering. It was like a consolation and a promise. Harry felt tears in the corners of his eyes. What was happening?

Draco moved back a little and then went down on his knees and hugged him. One of his hands came to rest on Harry’s hair. The other arm went around his back. Harry’s eye spilled over.

“Shh,” Draco whispered and that simple sound was Harry’s undoing.

Sobs so broken wracked his chest that no sound came from his throat. He felt a force around his neck as if it were being pressed tight from the outside.

“Muffliato locum hocunum” Draco whispered next to Harry’s ear.

The sobs broke forth with violence. The last time Harry had wept like this was when after the veil…

This went deeper. It was as if Draco’s tenderness dragged it out of him forcefully wherever they were touching. The hand on his back tightened and soothing fingers carded through his curls. With a grunt, Harry pulled Draco towards him in one abrupt motion and buried his face in his shoulder. They were both shaking with the force of his sobs.

He did not know how long he wailed into Draco’s embrace. He cried for his mother and father. He cried for his lost childhood, full of love and affection. He cried for Sirius. He cried for the crushing weight of expectation on his shoulders. He cried and he cried and he cried.

At long last, he went still as the heaving stopped and his breathing evened out. Draco was humming something under his breath, rocking him softly.

Harry lifted his head and cleaned his face with the edge of his shirt. Ron’s shirt. If he knew he had been bawling like a child…

“I’m sorry,” Harry tried to say, but only a croak emerged.

He cleared his throat and tried again.

“I’m sorry.”

Draco cupped his face and put his forehead against his own. It felt uniquely intimate. Intimate, but calming.

“Anything,” Draco said quietly. “Anything you want to know. I will answer you, without hesitation or ambiguity.”

Some barrier had broken down. Harry did not want to hold himself back, so he leaned forward and kissed Draco on the mouth. Draco made a surprised noise, but after a second, kissed him back with the weight of relief behind it. When he pulled back, he looked at Harry and Harry looked at him. The grey of his eyes was like a mirror and Harry saw himself in it.


	5. Coming to Terms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Draco have a heart-to-heart. And also something else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise everyone! I have so much to do that I have to publish this now, otherwise I will just keep working on it and I simply don't have the time to do that.
> 
> This chapter earns the "mature" rating, so if that's not your cup of tea, I will post lines in the notes at the end (I'm not going to spoiler the others by posting them here), so you can have a look at them now and skip that part, if you want. Heed the tags.
> 
> Please enjoy!

As Harry leaned back in order to wipe his nose again on the side of Ron's shirt, Draco immediately butted his hands away and produced a pressed handkerchief from somewhere in his pockets, pushing it into his hands. It had his initials stitched into it, of course.

“Uh… thanks,” Harry stammered embarrassedly. “I’ll just go and… get my cup of tea from the kitchen,” he added, in order to escape the mortification for at least a little bit and use the extra minute to think about what to do now. Draco, however, sprung up instantly and waved him back down.

“You’ll do no such thing. I’ll go,” he said and rushed out the door.

Harry gave a sigh. He gladly took the much-needed breathing room.

He blew his nose and found himself staring at Draco’s initials, wondering again why he was being so attentive. Considerate, even. Caring to the point of awkwardness.

It just wasn’t like Draco, except, apparently it was, because he couldn’t have kept up that kind of behaviour if it were all an act, could he? Was it more likely Harry had never noticed this side of him? Or maybe he’d simply never had an opportunity to notice it? It’s not like Draco had ever felt the need to be attentive to him before, or his friends. Or anyone, probably, except for his family.

His family. His _family_.

Harry nearly fell off Mr. Weasley’s armchair as realisation hit him like the Hogwarts Express. Draco had left his home. He’d _left_ his family. He’d left his family and had come back home with… with _Harry_.

 _He_ was now… Draco’s family.

The thought emerged from some repressed corner of his brain sluggishly and Harry tried to actively resist it, because it couldn’t be, it _couldn’t be_. But wasn’t that what Bill had said? What Draco had said himself, last night on the stairs? That they would… share a living? (And a bed, a small voice supplied.) And even before that, on the train, hadn’t Harry felt Draco’s anguish as it had dawned on him that he could probably never go back?

Being committed, as Bill had described it, out of some pureblood sense of honour, wasn’t something Harry could understand. The words meant nothing to him. But _family_ , this he knew. This he could understand.

And if _he_ was _Draco’s_ family, then Draco was… _his_ family, in a more literal way even than the Weasley’s. Draco was his husband. Entirely and irrevocably.

A tidal wave of protectiveness surged up inside him, so fierce, he felt his entire perspective shift. He was responsible for Draco, especially considering he had willingly and probably under considerable strain tried to integrate himself into Harry’s surrogate family. This new understanding made Harry’s determination rise in strength. He would… he would… what exactly could he do? He could start by being more trusting, he supposed. And maybe back him in case of conflict. The others all had each other, but Draco had no-one else to stand up for him, and conflict was inevitable in the present constellation.

Then the thought of having a husband caught up with him and it was so strange, he flinched back mentally.

However, if being with Draco was anything like it had been over the last few weeks, then it actually wasn’t a terrible image at all. Especially if he considered his actions over the last two days. Something had shifted. He had been good company – charming and funny – before, at times, and sexy, Harry had to admit to himself, but the way he had held him just now; it spoke of dedication. It spoke of devotion.

He blushed fiercely at the whole idea, but half of it was for pleasure. Hope blossomed in some part of him that he hadn’t realised had been empty for a long time. It made him nearly giddy.

At that moment the door opened and Draco stepped inside, a tray with tea and biscuits trailing after him. With a small wave the tray set itself down on the desk and a glance from Draco was all it took to make the pot pour for them. He half expected Draco to smirk at him, but there was only a little fond smile playing around his lips when he noticed Harry watching.

A horrible thought crossed his mind. Was Draco actually a nice person and Harry had never noticed before? No. That was taking things one step too far. He might be charming and he might be caring, but he was definitely not nice. Except, he kind of was.

“Well?” Draco asked, eyebrow raised. “I know basic courtesy is not something you were taught, but a simple ‘thank you’ would have sufficed,” he said blandly, inspecting his fingernails. “I am already regretting my choice.”

There. See? Not nice. Wait, what?

“Well, I didn’t force you to save my life!” Harry retorted, stung.

Draco sat up abruptly. “My choice to get you tea, you imbecile. What did you think? I would put up with this household if I weren’t sure of you?”

“Put up with…?” Harry spluttered. “Is it so horrible to be treated decently and be cooked for and…”

“Get hexed behind my back?”

“Yes, well. That’s just Ginny. She has a bit of a temper.”

“I noticed.”

They locked eyes grimly. Harry took everything back. Draco could hold his own in a fight quite without his help.

A cup nudged his hand. He grabbed it, took a passive-aggressive sip, and promptly burned his tongue. Draco snorted.

“So, what’s that plant you gave Mrs. Weasley,” Harry asked aggressively, putting the cup back down on the desk.

Draco's eyebrows flew straight into his hairline. “Are you for real? I give you _carte blanche_ to ask me anything and you inquire after a plant?” he asked disbelievingly.

“It has to be something special, the way she kept touching it.”

“It’s a charmed plant. A simple Evergreen spell, if you must know.”

“What does it do?”

Draco looked heavenwards as if to communicate to some unknown entity the depth of his frustration with mortal men. One mortal man in particular.

“It’s in the name, Potter. Ever-green? You plant it in your garden and it protects the other flowers from bad weather.”

“If it’s such a simple spell, why was Mrs. Weasley so happy about it?” Harry kept on digging.

“It’s… not a very widely known spell,” Draco said carefully. “And it’s kind of one of Mother’s specialities, so Molly would not get hold of it under more ordinary circumstances.”

“And how come you call her Molly!” Harry complained.

“She offered, naturally. Do you take me for a neanderthal?” Draco replied indignantly.

“Hm,” Harry grunted.

He took a more careful swallow of tea and leaned back in his armchair. What were they even doing? He could never talk to Draco sincerely. Somehow, one of them always ended up offended over something the other person said. Maybe it was their shared history of mutual resentment. Harry just couldn’t take anything Draco said without a grain of salt. But he’d promised himself to try, so try he would.

He cleared his throat awkwardly.

“So… how did you envision this,” he waved a hand between them, “to… go on?” he asked hesitantly, blushing again.

Draco stiffened slightly and then lounged back into his chair so casually, it was evidently a calculated move. His good breeding probably stopped him from betraying himself in a more obvious way, but Harry could tell he was surprised by the straightforwardness of his question.

“Well,” he started and paused.

“Well?” Harry asked, raising his eyebrows in mimicry of Draco’s usual gesture. Two could play at this game!

Draco gave an amused shake of his head.

“In the long view, I guess we have to do something against the obvious obstacle to a long and happy life together,” Draco deadpanned.

“So… you think that’s possible?”

Draco cocked his head.

“A long and happy life, I mean. With… me.” If Draco would not genuinely appreciate the immense effort he put into this, he would strangle him.

“Are you asking me if I can imagine being with you for the rest of my life? I think that train has rather left the station, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes, but… how can you just accept all this so easily and move on?” Harry asked bewildered. This was what he really wanted to know, he realised.

“What else am I supposed to do? Fight it?”

Draco got up and went over to the window, studying the countryside, maybe. The sunlight spilling over his form made his hair nearly translucent at the ends. The side of his neck was smooth and it made Harry’s fingers itch.

“Move away and leave everything I’ve ever known? Waste my time searching for a way to undo it all? You are my best life insurance at this point, anyway.”

He turned around and fixed his eyes on Harry.

“What point is there in making a nuisance of myself? My alternatives are few. I can’t go back to the Dark Lord. He would kill me as an example for what happens to traitors. And I like my life here. I like the possibilities that being the Malfoy heir offers.”

His pretty mouth curved into a grimace.

“Not that it’s very likely I’ll stay the heir for much longer, anyway. But there is nowhere else I’d want to be. Some are moving to France.” He shuddered. “It’s nice for a holiday, but who’d like to spend an entire life there?” he asked in apparent revulsion. “They’re so… rude. No etiquette in the purist circles. And did you know it takes nearly twenty minutes to get a glass of water in a Parisienne café?”

Harry laughed. He couldn’t help it. Draco was just so… posh.

“That is no laughing matter!” Draco protested in mock outrage.

With arms crossed and indignant expression firmly fixed on his face, Draco was the most tempting vision Harry had ever seen. He found himself pulled into his orbit and for the first time truly uncaring to resist the pull, he simply stood and joined him at the window. Draco followed his process and looked at him now with a quizzical air and a quirk of lips. His eyes were a shining silver where the sun touched the irises. There were tiny crinkles in the skin next to them and his gaze was… fond? He was hyper aware of every textured detail of Draco’s face. As soon as Harry reached him, however, he couldn’t remember what he’d wanted to do once he was there.

Draco’s smile turned predatory.

“Come here,” he said, stretching out his hand in invitation. Harry couldn’t look away. He slowly lifted his hand to touch Draco’s. His fingers were cool in spite of the heat outside. Their skin brushed where Harry slid them along Draco’s waiting palm. He shivered. It was like a current against the sensitive pads of his digits. Very deliberately, Draco closed his grip around Harry’s hand and dragged him near. Harry went to him. He was gently manoeuvred to lean against the window. The windowsill dug into his backside. His heartbeat accelerated as Draco unhurriedly pressed his body against his.

“Are you ready now to admit to yourself that you want me?” Draco asked in a near whisper as he leaned in to touch his lips softly to Harry’s neck where it was exposed by Ron’s shirt’s collar. Draco pressed him against the windowsill and his brain just switched off. Nothing mattered anymore, just this little bubble of shared warmth. His whole body hummed in satisfaction at their closeness. Draco’s hair tickled his cheek. His waist was slim where Harry had lifted his hands to dig his fingers into Draco’s sides. His spine tingled and he could slowly feel his hunger awaken, a rising need to touch and to be touched in return, to let his hands glide along Draco’s skin and feel him tremble in response, preferably naked and underneath a soft blanket. He was nowhere near inclined to admit this out loud, however. It felt like he would somehow lose to Draco if he did.

His lull came to a sharp end and a gasp escaped him as Draco _bit_ him. It nearly overloaded his senses. He could feel his body react in a distinct way.

“Say it.” Draco said gently but firmly.

“No,” Harry pressed out.

“No?” Draco asked in deceptively calm tones.

“Then I’ll just have to show you,” he purred.

Keeping their bodies in contact, he dragged himself down Harry’s front until he was down on his knees in front of him once more. Only this time, he had a very different goal, it seemed. Harry gripped the sill firmly as Draco looked up at him briefly, through hooded eyes. Whatever he saw in Harry’s face, it seemed to satisfy him, because he cupped Harry through his shorts in one smooth motion, rubbing in slow circles.

“Draco!” Harry wanted to chide him, but it came out a lot softer than he had anticipated.

With his other hand, Draco got out his wand and threw a locking charm at the door casually. Then he put his wand next to Harry’s fingers onto the sill. This simple gesture made a last knot of resistance in Harry smooth out and evaporate.

“Yes,” he ground out.

Draco’s eyes gleamed.

“Yes, what?” he inquired, smiling beatifically.

“Yes, please, do it!” Harry pleaded. He _wanted_ it.

He had to hold it to Draco that he didn’t hesitate a moment longer. He simply opened the short’s buttons and moved Ron’s boxers out of the way and put his tongue to work, moaning loudly at first contact. Or had that been him?

“I warded the room,” Draco said hurriedly, pausing. “No sound gets out,” before getting back to it.

Harry only moaned again. There was no way in heaven and on earth he was ever going to give this up again, ever. How could it feel so _good?_

At a particularly wonderful pull he closed his eyes and there it was, like a new door inside his chest. He knew he could feel what Draco felt if he chose to.

There was only a second of apprehension before he stepped trough that door and the fullness of having a man in his mouth assaulted his senses. When Draco moved all the way forward, he could feel himself hit the back of Draco’s throat and at the same time he felt that Draco couldn’t breathe anymore and that he was hard and leaking.

He moaned unrestrictedly because he somehow expected the sound to get stuck in his throat but instead, it rang loudly into the room, over the muffled noises Draco was making himself.

Draco pulled off.

“Touch my hair!” he groaned and made a move for Harry’s hand.

When Harry hesitated, Draco clucked his tongue in irritation and snatched both of Harry’s wrists and put them on his head.

“Grab it!” he growled and only when Harry had curled is fingers into Draco’s soft hair did Draco let him go to clutch at his shorts again, opening his lips. This time Harry couldn’t close his eyes. He was mesmerised by Draco’s lips being stretched around him; mouth filled. The way his throat worked as it adjusted to this unfamiliar intrusion. The way he was starting to sweat slightly at the temples. The way his eyelashes fluttered.

Then Draco put one hand down between his own legs, rubbing in quick motions. The sight almost undid him.

When Draco pulled off _again_ , Harry nearly killed him, but then Draco said, cool as a cucumber: “Fuck my mouth.”

“What?” Harry croaked, blinking.

Draco’s eyes glittered angrily as Harry was still trying to comprehend what Malfoy was asking of him. Wouldn’t that hurt?

Suddenly Draco grabbed his hips, pulled him away from the window sharply, shuffled around on the floor and leaned his head back against the wall, Harry’s fingers still buried in his hair.

“Now,” he said sharply. “Move,” and opened his mouth. He managed to seem commanding even whilst being pressed between Harry and the wall.

“I… okay,” Harry mumbled. It didn’t look like Draco would move his head on his own, and if Harry had to decide between stopping and doing the work himself, he would get started right away. Tentatively he nudged himself back between Draco’s lips. Draco closed his eyes and somehow telegraphed being deeply unimpressed by Harry’s lack of oomph.

“Okay,” Harry said again. “But if it’s too much, you pat my leg, okay?” he asked. When Malfoy didn’t react, he pulled out and yanked Draco’s head back, making him look up. Draco let out a deep groan. “OK?” Harry asked forcefully.

“Yes, yes,” Draco croaked. “Now get to it, kitten.”

Harry started off slowly but when Draco’s whines got louder, Harry sped up and soon got lost in the pleasure of it. His thrusts were strengthening and he cut off Draco’s breath with every push. His hands tightened in Draco’s hair and at some point he _was_ fucking Draco’s mouth, holding him in place whilst plunging in and out with abandon. His grunts were getting louder, too, and Draco had opened his own trousers at some point and had one hand buried deep inside, doing something Harry couldn’t see from this angle, and with the other, he’d taken himself in hand, stroking slowly but powerfully. His whole body was shaking and the noises he was making! Harry had never seen him come so undone. There was no sign of the haughty, collected pure-blood left.

Fascination wrestled with mindless pleasure, but the second won out as he came up towards that crest he was searching. He could feel his toes curl even before it started and when it hit him, he had to cling to Draco to keep upright. His knees bent slightly and his hips twitched rhythmically. He was buried inside Draco’s mouth as deeply as he could go, clutching his hair and Draco swallowed and swallowed, and shook with his own release. It lasted longer than Harry had expected and when he was finally done, he slowly unclenched his fists and moved back on unsteady feet to give Draco some space. They were both gasping, Draco pulling in huge gulps of air. His eyes were still closed and his head was leaned back against the wall, exposing his long, pale throat. His fingers were covered with his pleasure and even his trousers had gotten their fair share. Harry pulled his boxers up over himself and sat down on the floor in front of him, looking for signs of distress.

But then, a smile began to form on Draco’s face and it widened so dramatically, it made him look nearly deranged. His hair was a complete mess and his lips were very very red. When he moved his head down, he opened his eyes and grinned at Harry like a madman, eyes practically shining.

Harry felt an answering grin spread across his own face and then they were chuckling together in delight.

“Oof!” Harry said, still smiling. “If I didn’t know you were planning to keep me as a life insurance, I would be sure you were trying to kill me.”

Draco rolled his eyes.

“You could have had this yesterday evening, and more, in a perfectly nice bed with the house nearly empty,” he retorted. “And now I’ve had to promise Molly not to share a bed with you, so this will be it for the next few weeks, probably. Except if we can sneak off sometime in between, but somehow, I doubt it,” he added mournfully. “Be a darling and hand me my wand.”

Harry handed him his wand and watched as Draco performed a cleaning charm and something that made his clothes look freshly ironed after he had tucked himself back in.

“I hope they haven’t come looking yet…” Harry mumbled as he got up.

“I expect Molly would have been in here five times by now, offering us more tea or brining up cupcakes, but I am quite certain Arthur was opting to give us some privacy, if you know what I mean.”

He stretched out his hand towards Harry.

“Here, help us up,” he commanded.

“You are incorrigible,” Harry said, but heaved him up anyway.

Draco went back to his chair and sat down primly, looking for all the world as if they had been sitting there talking about the weather this last half hour. Except for...

"Yor hair..." Harry said and sat back down, too, amused. Draco actually blushed, after everything they had just done, and furiosly tried to smooth it back down.

“Is there anything else you wanted to talk about, before you decide to declare to the whole household _again_ how much we loathe each other and how we are not planning to be together, anyway?” he asked blandly, unlocking the door and reheating their tea with a lazy wave of his wand.

“I won’t,” Harry said. “But now we're at it… why can’t we go back to the dormitories?”

“Oh,” Draco said, “You really don’t know,” with a slight frown and a tip of his head.

“Noo?” Harry replied.

“Well, you see. Married persons have the right to room together, and since we are… more than married, so to speak, we would be allowed even though we are still students. Now, nothing would hinder you from going back to your dorm, but I am a filthy traitor and it might not be the best idea to sleep with three blood purists in the room. If I am removed to other quarters, I would still be… vulnerable, shall we say, on my own, so us two rooming together is really the most sensible option,” he explained. “And also, it would be frowned upon by most traditional wizards and I don’t plan to antagonise even more of them. I do still want to go into politics after this is all over,” he added haughtily.

Harry shook his head in fond disbelief. Trust Draco to take his reputation among Voldemort sympathisers more serious than threat to life and limb.

“And on top of that, think of the shagging we could do every night.”

This, Harry had to concede, was a good point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to avoid the sexy time, skip from "Are you ready now to admit to yourself that you want me?” to "But then, a smile began to form on Draco’s face..."


	6. Draco's World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco's point of view. Christmas Special!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my freinds! I wish you all a very happy Christmas and hope you are having a great time with friends or family! 
> 
> To all those who are on their own and would rather be with the people they love; despair not! There will be a next time when you can be together. You will get through this week and life will go on and you will be fine! You are loved :)
> 
> I just wanted to tell you that I am thinking of you and I've got a little something for you.
> 
> Please enjoy!

Draco’s life had ever been charged with contradictions. His allies were not his friends and his opponents were not his enemies. His house was not his home and his father was also his tormentor. His mother, his earliest confidante, his most ardent supporter and closely trusted friend, had never spoken plainly of the things she’d had on her mind. And now she had sent him out into the world, and left him.

It was his father’s lessons he had heeded since he was a small boy, eager to please him, but it was his mother’s he remembered when he sat on that train that carried him into an uncertain future.

His father had striven to make him into a blade of steel. Cunning, cold, unyielding, eager to exploit the weaknesses of his enemies, to thrust into the soft and hidden places. At the same time, he was meant to be a lump of clay. Pliable, lukewarm, spineless – moulded into any shape by the same hand that would wield the dagger. His mother’s quiet education had been towards a different purpose. She had warned him to be like a willow tree. Strongly rooted in the earth, but bending with the wind, so as not to break whilst facing the storm. Proudly humble, boldly reserved, shrewdly gracious.

A dagger’s only purpose was to be used, and indeed it was useless without a wielder. A lump of clay had no shape of its own and a willow grew where it was planted. Yet a blade could bite its owner, clay hardened when it went through fire and a willow… A willow, in the wizarding world, might leap and move on its own.

###

The first time he had seen a woman naked, he was four years old. He’d had a nightmare and stumbled into his parent’s bedchamber. His father was nowhere to be seen, but his mother sat on the chair at her dressing table, fingers gliding through rows of glittering pearls and stone necklaces. The landscape of her back was flawless; a meandering expanse of smooth, unblemished skin. He ran to her, thinking she would be a warm comforter, as he knew her to be, but when he touched her back, she was cool. In his child’s mind, fraught with the lingering taste of his bad dreams, this felt very wrong. He flinched back.

His mother turned around and with unseeing eyes she grabbed at him and drew him into her lap. She pressed him close and hummed, rocking him back and forth. He tried to get away and struggled in her embrace, but she was cold as marble and as hard. Her limbs had turned into a cage, smothering him. He could not breathe. In a last attempt, he threw himself off her and when he hit the ground hard, she was gone. He was alone in the darkness.

Draco sat up, panting. The sheets were rumpled and he had kicked away the blankets. The room was unfamiliar even in the soft light of dawn, the shapes looming out of the dim twilight, the walls to close.

Then he remembered Harry’s eyes reflected in the window as he had thought: ‘beautiful’. Harry’s eyes on him in the garden, the same sharp focus of his green gaze. Slowly, warmth replaced the cold dread clinging to his thoughts. He let himself fall back into the mattress and think of green eyes instead of blue, of a hot temper and gentle hands and a blushing neck.

And even if he had to demean himself, he would not lose this. This Bond was his strength now, his anchor and his weapon.

He turned around and fell asleep swiftly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a one off - the story will continue in Harry's POV.
> 
> Be blessed! xx


	7. Contention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ron has difficulties adjusting to Draco's presence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my lovelies, it's been a while. I hope you are doing well and had a lovely Christmas?
> 
> As always, if you are early reading this chapter, I'm sure a few typos have found their way in. However, I thought you would rather have this now and I'll change a few words here and there over the next couple of days, instead of waiting another week for it. If you see any typos, don't hesitate to put it in a comment!
> 
> If you are reading this, Sofia with a f (or Sof+Potter): I was so happy about your comment and your offer to beta for this story! If you are still interested, please email me: lalex@posteo.co.uk. Or anyone else, if there's anything you want to email me about :P

Harry and Draco at last decided it was time to end Molly’s torment and head back downstairs.

Sighing, Harry heaved himself out of Mr. Weasley’s very comfortable armchair. If his attachment to it grew any stronger, he would start to transmute into one like Professor Slughorn.

Draco was standing by the door, watching him.

“Actually,” he said, holding onto the doorknob and studying Harry with a critical eye, as if assessing his adequacy to be seen in public, “maybe you should go to the bathroom to freshen up a smidgeon.”

He leaned towards Harry and brushed his thumb gently along Harry’s left eye. The skin was sensitive and Harry wouldn’t be surprised if he still looked like his cousin Dudley after the pixies had descended upon him. Draco’s eyes never left his as he continued to stroke his thumb lightly back and forth across Harry’s cheek. His mouth curved upward and he moved into Harry’s personal space.

Harry smelled himself on Draco’s breath. It should have been unpleasant, he found, but instead a certain self-satisfaction spread through him. He straightened.

“You smell like me,” he said stupidly, gaze dropping to Draco’s mouth.

Draco lifted his eyebrows.

“Let’s see if I taste like you as well,” he teased. “By your leave?”

When they managed to separate at last, Harry was breathing hard again and Draco looked… he looked absolutely irresistible. There was a particular smug pride in his eyes that suited his face very well. His chin was raised in a manner Harry would have found infuriating only a week past, but now it worked to draw Harry’s attention more favourably towards his mouth and exposed neck.

With a last twitch of the corner of his mouth, Draco opened the door.

“After you,” he intoned, facing towards him and bowing.

Harry just shook his head and went ahead.

###

Ten minutes later, Harry still examined his reflection in the cracked bathroom mirror.

His hair was as messy as it always had been and his cheeks were still distinctly puffy from… crying. Like a child. In _Draco’s arms_. Which was somehow even more embarrassing than having the most sensual experience of his life right by Mr. Weasleys work desk.

“Aaargh!” he groaned, rubbing his face with both hands.

Actually, he had been astonished to see the same ordinary young man looking back at him from the mirror. The same ordinary young man as two days ago in the huge gilded looking glass in Malfoy manor.

It felt like a lifetime ago. His main ambition had been trying to pass his days without punching Draco in the face and waiting for school to begin so everything could go back to normal. Trying not to punch Draco had soon turned into trying not to complete the bond by applying Hermione’s suggestion, but that’d turned out to be a waste of time and energy.

And now he was a bonded man. Burdened with responsibility for yet another person. He felt like his appearance should reflect the added weight his circumstances had saddled him with. And if he looked closely, wasn’t there a more determined cast to his mouth? A little more conviction in his gaze? Maybe a tiny amount of added confidence in his stance?

However, this new, unplanned outlook on life also brought with it a kind of weightlessness he hadn’t ever experienced before. His insides still squirmed when he thought about the feeling of Draco’s mouth and the knowledge that this won’t have been the last time this sort of thing happened between them. In fact, as soon as they were out from underneath Mrs. Weasley's thumb, he might learn to get used to it. Maybe they could even–

A knock sounded at the door.

“Harry?” Ron’s voice called.

“Yeah, just a minute!” he shouted back and quickly washed his face over the basin.

“Thank Merlin. I nearly forgot Malfoy is here somewhere. The thought of sharing a bathroom is too creepy,” Ron whispered with a shudder when Harry stepped onto the hall.

“Well. You can hardly let him share Ginny’s...” Harry muttered.

“I’d like to see him try!” Ron laughed, hitting Harry on the back as he stepped past him into the restroom and closed the door behind him.

Harry slumped against the wall. He could hear Mr. and Mrs. Weasley in the kitchen. He just knew she would ask him about his talk with Draco, so he went upstairs instead and sat down on his bed listlessly. This day’d had more than enough excitement. His body felt sluggish. Come to think of it – he hadn’t really gotten that much sleep the night before. He took off his glasses, lay down and closed his eyes.

###

When he woke up, the sun was just beginning to set. Lifting his arms, he sighed as his back popped during a particular satisfying stretch. He hadn’t rested that well in ages!

Unhurriedly he got up and padded through the hall, down the flights of stairs and into the kitchen. Yawning and scratching his head, he settled at the table.

Ron was standing at the counter next to his mother, grumbling and peeling potatoes.

“Of course he gets to nap while I have to do house elf work,” he muttered.

“And if I hear you complain one more time, you can clean out tomorrow’s chicken as well,” Mrs. Weasley added mildly.

Ron turned around and threw Harry a dirty look. Harry chuckled and leaned back in his chair languidly, sighing contentedly.

Ron’s face froze as his gaze fell past Harry and he quickly turned back to his potatoes. Frowning, Harry twisted around and saw Draco reclining in the weirdly patterned armchair in the corner, book open in his lap, watching him. A smile was pulling at the corners of his mouth and Harry was surprised at the distinct urge to kiss it. The smile became a full-blown grin and before Harry had even thought about it, he was getting up and striding over towards where Draco sat.

He sunk down into the brown armchair next to Draco’s and put his feet on the table.

“What are you reading?” he asked when Draco didn’t say anything.

Draco lifted the book. Harry leaned closer and squinted to decipher the title. _How Do Airplanes Fly? And More Answers To Questions Your Children Will Ask You._

“Arthur lent it me,” Draco said, still grinning. “I never realised how crazy muggles really are.”

“You have no idea,” Harry said. “Have you heard of submarines?” He widened his eyes playfully.

“Let me guess. They go underwater?” Draco’s tone was coloured by horror and fascination both.

“How did you know?” Harry asked, mildly astonished.

Draco smirked and Harry wondered how in Merlin’s name he had never realised before how attractive Draco was when he smiled.

“Latin,” he said loftily with a toss of his head.

“Ah.”

Harry looked away, willing his face to remain cool. He just hadn’t seen Draco smile that often. It had always been cruel sneers or condescending cackles.

Draco was quiet.

Harry fidgeted with the quilt thrown over the armrest. When he glanced back up, Draco was still studying him. Why wouldn’t he just continue reading his book? He just kept _looking_ at him.

“What?” Harry asked flatly.

“Nothing,” Draco said, casually crossing one leg over the other. “I’m just appreciating the… ‘straight out of bed’ look. So innocent; soft and sleep tousled. And come to think of it, I’ve never seen you without your glasses.” Draco leaned in and lowered his voice. “I’m looking forward to our shared rooms in Hogwarts,” he murmured and he gave Harry a very obvious once-over, but with such a fond expression that Harry couldn’t find it in himself to be angry with him. In the background, Ron was making audible gagging noises. The thump that followed resulted in continued muttering and complaints.

Harry plonked his head back onto the backrest and called over his shoulder: “Make sure to clean those potatoes real thorough. You know how much I hate bits of peel on my potatoes!”

Draco snickered. Something flew past Harry’s head at high speed and bounced off his armchair, straight at Draco’s face. He ducked away just in time and the potato thunked against one of the coloured paintings stuck to the wall, leaving an unshapely smudge on it.

“Ronald Bilius Weasley!”

Mrs. Weasley’s shrill voice reverberated thought the house.

“You will go to your room immediately and you will stay there until you remember how to behave!”

“Wh-what!?” Ron stammered. “But mum, that’s unfair! Harry–“

“I don’t want to hear any excuses. You will go and think about how we treat guests in this household. No dinner! Now go!”

“But-“

“Not one word!” she said tightly with her finger raiser in his direction.

Ron’s shoulders tensed as he went over to the sink to wash his hands. Harry winced. It seemed he had gravely misjudged Ron’s mood. When they’d talked earlier on, he’d seemed more... cheerful. Had something happened in the meantime?

He got up, glancing over at Draco again but his face was carefully blank and held no indication of anything amiss.

“Ron, I’m sorry,” Harry said. “Mrs. Weasley, please, there’s no need. I’m sure Ron just forgot Draco was there and he… well, we do stuff like that all the time, don’t we, Ron? It’s all just in good fun.” He nudged Ron in the side.

“Uhh…” Ron said, “Yeah.”

Mrs. Weasley didn’t look the slightest bit inclined to lessen Ron’s sentence, however. Her hands had taken permanent residence on her hips and her cheeks were flushed an angry red.

“Ron knows better than to throw food around my kitchen, be it in good fun or otherwise,” she said sternly.

Harry wanted to retort something, but Ron grabbed his shoulder.

“Leave it, mate,” he said tiredly.

When nothing more was forthcoming, Mrs. Weasley nodded brusquely and turned back to her chicken.

“I’m really sorry. I’ll sneak you dinner later,” Harry mouthed towards Ron when he glowered at Draco on his way past.

Draco sighed in a way that somehow expressed his ongoing and deep dissatisfaction with life in general and got up with a look at Harry that clearly said “I don’t know why I do this for you and I hope you die an early death of the most painful kind” and stalked over to where Mrs. Weasley was gutting the chicken using increasingly aggressive methods.

He stopped next to her and put a tentative hand on her arm. His expression had changed from night to day in a second.

“Molly,” he said softly. Mrs. Weasley stilled. “Please let it go. I know very well how hard it must be for your family to accept my presence in this house. I would feel terribly uncomfortable knowing Ron missed dinner on my behalf.”

His tone was dripping earnestness.

“Well,” Mrs. Weasley said, seemingly flustered. “Well. I guess in that case.” She wrung her hands.

Harry’s mouth dropped open. How in Merlin’s name had Draco done that? Harry had only ever seen Mr. Weasley placate Mrs. Weasley like that and never with such ease.

Rounding on Ron, she added: “But you better take care to be on your best behaviour!”

Ron stood by the stairs, looking as shocked as Harry felt, face changing slowly from disbelief to outrage.

“Why thank you, mum, but I think I’d rather go to bed early. I won’t be able to watch my tongue with _him_ around,” he spat at Draco and vanished.

###

They ate without Ron.

Mr. Weasley came in from the shed and Harry helped Mrs. Weasley with the rest of dinner preparations. He listened bemusedly to Draco navigating his way through a conversation about radios and toasters with an enthusiastic Mr. Weasley all throughout dinner. Occasionally, Draco would glance in Harry’s direction with that same put-upon look from before, but to Harry’s ongoing astonishment and Mrs. Weasley’s obvious amusement, managed to hold his own.

When their plates were empty and Mrs. Weasley began clearing the table, Mr. Weasley scraped back his chair and looked at his wife with serious eyes, clearing his throat.

“Ah, yes. Harry, my dear, why don’t you take that up to Ronald, he must be very hungry,” she said distractedly, pushing a plate into Harry’s hands. Potatoes and mushrooms were piled high, surrounded by peas and carrots, drowned in gravy.

“Don’t bother with the plate, you can bring it back down tomorrow morning. Sleep well!” She fairly shoved Harry towards the stairs, handing him fork and knife with an afterthought.

Harry looked over at Draco who lifted his right shoulder in an elegant shrug.

“Right. Yes, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry said. “Good night, Mr. Weasley. See you tomorrow, Draco!”

Draco nodded at him and as Harry was creeping up the stairs, balancing the plate on one hand, he heard Mr. Weasley say: “Well, Draco. Molly and I had a talk with Bill over the floo earlier and we all…” before he moved around the corner and the voices became too quiet to make out clearly. Should he go back and listen?

But first, he had to get Ron his dinner.

###  
  


Ron was sitting on his small balcony, watching the night. When Harry stepped outside, Ron glanced at him and went right back to studying the sky.

“I brought you some dinner,” Harry tried and sat down next to him.

Ron brightened a little and uncrossed his legs to balance the plate on his thighs. As soon as Harry handed over knife and fork, Ron began stuffing his face.

“Quidditch,” was all he said and swallowed. “Forgot how hungry it makes you.”

Harry studied him from the side. His hair was even shaggier than before the holidays and could it be that he was a bit wider, as well?

“Why haven’t you been training?” Harry asked.

“I did at first,” Ron answered past a mouthful of potato, “but it’s just not a lot of fun, on your own, you know.”

He shrugged.

“But… wouldn’t Ginny play with you? And what about Fred and George?”

Ron ducked his head and continued diminishing his dinner.

“Well,” he said after a while, “Ginny just wants me to be keeper all the time so she can ‘practice her aiming and trick shots’.” The last was delivered with a whining lilt. “We did play a few games over the summer, but Fred and George are always busy, either with their shop or doing secret stuff for the order.”

Harry frowned.

“But Ron, you _are_ keeper. That would have been perfect training!”

“Yes, but it doesn’t really keep you in form! And when Hermione was here, I didn’t want to spend too much time just doing drills and stuff. You know I hate drills. And Ginny just kept complaining that I wasn’t good enough and needed to practice more and I just…”

He sighed.

“I think it’s just not as important as it used to be,” he added. “Playing, I mean. There is so much going on… Dad has two days of vacation left, but then he’ll have to go back to the ministry and he’ll be working overtime and… you should have seen him last month, the circles underneath his eyes. Even when he did get home in time for dinner, he would just sit there and stare, sometimes. He wasn’t sleeping well either, I could tell. He won’t tell me what’s going on but You-Know-Who has half the ministry undermined and they’re planning something big, I just know it! And mum gets really weird when he is gone too long, she cooks way too much food and looks out the window every few minutes. Hermione spent a lot of time here and when we weren’t doing homework, we were thinking about what you told us about the hocruxes. With you gone for a whole month, we didn’t get any news, because Dumbledore won’t talk to us and mum forbade us to join them on the order meetings, even though we were there last year! How the buggering boggarts are we supposed to help when no-one tells us anything! And then your letters got less and less and we knew there was something you weren’t telling us, but how could we have guessed you decided to start shagging Malfoy instead of trying to get rid of him! And then you just swanned in here with a baby death eater in tow without any thoughts as to what they could be planning! He ridiculed us for years! He called Hermione a…” Ron stopped and growled low in his throat.

“His father nearly killed my sister!” He was shouting now. “He would have killed you in the ministry! His aunt killed Sirius and you just… you…. How can you just trust him?!”

Ron was breathing hard. He’d carelessly flung his plate to the side and his fists were balled in his lap.

Harry blinked. Sirius' name left a dull throb in his ribcage. He had expected his all-too-familiar temper to rise halfway through that tirade, but it hadn’t. The anger, like a burning sea of rage that had become less and less controllable over the last year – it did not come. He felt a bit overwhelmed at Ron’s ire and he was annoyed Ron brought Draco’s trustworthiness up again. He shared Ron’s worry for his family and then realised he _should_ also share his concern about how to deal with Voldemort, but his mind was unexpectedly clear. He held up a hand.

“Ron…” he started. “I… I am sorry for not writing about everything before.”

He grimaced. “It’s just not something to write in a letter. I wasn’t even sure what I thought about it myself. And if everything had happened the way we’d thought with the unfettering brew, it certainly wouldn’t have mattered.”

Ron frowned and gave him a disbelieving look, but some of the tension left his body.

“Mate, I hate to say this, but you don’t really think you can just… bugger someone and it doesn’t change anything? And I’m not even talking about the foolishness of wanting to bugger Malfoy in the first place.”

“Okay,” Harry said, “but can you please stop saying bugger?”

Ron snickered. “You know Hermione and I-“

“No, stop!” Harry yelled and threw himself at Ron to cover his mouth with his hands. “I don’t want to hear this!”

Ron’s shrieks of laughter echoed into the night and soon they were rolling across the floor, Ron shouting things like “Buggering!” and “Love!” and “Help! I’m being raped!” until Harry hit the plate with his elbow and it sailed straight off the balcony and landed in the garden with a thump and a crash.

They stilled and listened for half a minute but when nothing else happened, Harry sat up and started looking for the missing knife and fork.

Ron leaned back against the wall and pulled up his knees.

“You know, I’m thankful he saved your life. But from what you said, it was a spur of the moment decision he made under pressure and I’m sure he only thought of the consequences afterwards. He wasn’t willing to let you die when he could prevent it and that shows he’s a human being but it doesn’t mean he has changed.”

Harry made himself consider this.

“Okay, you may be right, but what about this… pledge he made to your parents? With the…” he made a slashing motion across his palm.

“The blood magic. That might have just been to get us to trust him. He must know that my parents are too noble to really take anything from him or do anything to him.”

Harry thought about this, too. He couldn’t believe it of Draco, not after what happened earlier today. Nobody was that good an actor. He blushed remembering what Draco had looked like after their little tryst. Nobody could have acted _that_ , surely. But he could hardly say that to Ron. There was something else nagging him, anyway.

“But… you know he would die if I died, right?” he asked Ron.

“What?” Ron said, eyes wide. He turned and stared at Harry. “Are you sure?”

“Well,” Harry said slowly, “he told me so.”

“Ah.”

It was all Ron said, but his face spoke volumes.

“I’m sure he didn’t lie about that. We can ask Hermione, she would know.”

“Hermione!” Ron cried and sprung up. “Have you told her?”

Harry stopped short. He hadn’t even though about it. She didn’t even know they were here! Harry slapped his face hard and shook his head, getting up.

“I forgot,” he mumbled and turned pleading eyes to Ron. “She is going to kill me!”

“Not before she kills Malfoy,” Ron snickered. “Well, you better write her a letter."

**Author's Note:**

> All feedback loved.


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